Katniss and Cato: Jewels of Desire
by RichardJ
Summary: The 74th Hunger Games tributes are busy preparing for their interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Effie's offer to let Katniss borrow something from her jewellery collection has unexpected results. Particularly when Cato sees Katniss trying on a piece that no self respecting district girl would dream of wearing. It's the start of something with far reaching consequences.
1. 1-1 Preparations

Suzanne Collins is acknowledged as the creator of the Hunger Games characters and story

1-1. Preparations

"Stop fidgeting, Katniss," says Effie. "You need to look your best tonight."

It's a message my support team constantly repeat. Along with the twenty three other tributes for the 74th Hunger Games, I will be paraded in front of the television cameras tonight. What's worse, each of us must endure a five minute one-to-one interview with Caesar Flickerman. I can honestly say I am dreading it.

I sigh as Cinna and his team make the finishing touches to my dress. In fairness, Cinna has designed a beautiful dress which is every bit as special as he had promised. I'm grateful for his valiant efforts to make me look respectable even if I don't see the need for tonight's interviews.

"How do you feel?" asks Cinna when he is satisfied with his work.

"It's a beautiful dress. Thank you," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster … which isn't much, given almost certain death awaits me as soon as I enter the Hunger Games arena tomorrow.

"Yes, I know how you look in it, Katniss. But how do you feel?" persists Cinna.

"How should I feel?" I reply, slightly surprised by his question.

"Katniss! You ungrateful girl!" snaps Effie. "We are all trying to help you."

"I know, and despite what you think, I appreciate your efforts," I reply. "But I feel like a marionette; all dressed up to please an audience who simply want to be entertained. Isn't that what Haymitch called it? A television show. Aren't the tributes just twenty four puppets, each performing to our mentor's script?"

"Your image is important, Katniss," says Effie. "Haymitch will advise you what to say when you have you session with him this afternoon. There will be potential sponsors in tonight's audience. Impress them during your interview and they will help you. If you don't, then they will sponsor one of your rivals."

I've heard this speech from Effie at least six times in the last three days. I know she believes in what she is saying, but somehow I can't buy into the rotten arrangement. It's true that several previous Hunger Games victors owe their survival to the timely arrival of a sponsor's gift in the arena. But nothing in Panem comes for free. Some tributes may be naïve enough to believe sponsors give their generous help through the kindness of their hearts, but I'm not one of them. If a tribute is lucky, their sponsor is only interested in winning a high stakes bet. But lurking in the background are those sponsors whose help comes with unsavoury conditions that enslave a victor to their sponsor for life. The alternative is to die in the arena, of course, but you don't need a sponsor's help to do that.

"You asked me how I feel, and I gave you my answer," I snap. "Don't worry, I won't disgrace you tonight by picking my nose in front of the cameras. I'll read Haymitch's script as you command."

"You try talking some sense into her, Cinna," says Effie, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation.

"Sit down, Katniss," says Cinna quietly as soon as I've changed out of the dress and back into my training outfit. The delay while I changed at least means Effie and I have calmed down.

I think about refusing, but of all the people in my support team, Cinna is the only one who seems to understand me. I sit down with as much grace as I can summon in my present mood.

"I'm sorry, Cinna," I say when it becomes apparent he isn't about to launch into a lecture. "I really do like the dress. But there's nothing of the real me in this charade tonight."

"There's no need to be sorry. I should have realised what is missing before. Effie, this is something you can help with. Katniss needs some jewellery to complete her outfit. You have a good collection. Can Katniss borrow a few items?"

"Ah! Yes, of course. If that was all that was troubling you, Katniss, then it is a problem easily fixed. I'll go and pick out a few suitable things for you."

"No, Effie," interrupts Cinna before Effie can leave the room. "Katniss must be allowed to choose her own jewellery. At the moment she is merely the wearer of a dress created by me. We must let her transform it into an outfit of her own."

Effie and I look at Cinna in surprise. For my part, I'm again amazed by Cinna's understanding of my needs … even when I don't fully understand them myself. When I look at Effie I begin to worry in case she might object. It's one thing to lend me a ring or a necklace of her choice; it is something else entirely to let me rummage through her private collection.

"Yes, yes, OK," says Effie after a few moments hesitation. "I'm not certain many of my pieces are suitable for a young girl, but I will allow Katniss to look through what I have. We shall be back in an hour, Cinna."

I follow Effie to her private quarters in the Training Centre annex. Although there is a spare bedroom in our apartment, Effie has chosen to stay in one of the small but comfortable rooms assigned to the tributes' administration and support staff. Unlike the tributes' apartments, the rooms in the annex aren't segregated by district. I'm just thankful Effie hasn't decided to stay in her own apartment on the other side of the Capitol.

"Make yourself comfortable, Katniss, while I fetch my collection," says Effie as she goes to the safe located inside the wardrobe.

I sit in one of the two easy chairs and look around Effie's room while I wait. Her few personal effects tell me very little about the real Effie. Until now I have always labelled her as one of the many Capitol oddballs. Someone who means well but lives in a completely different world to me. When I see the small chest full of jewellery I realise there is an aspect to Effie I never knew existed.

"I've not had much chance to sort them out," says Effie when I peer into the chest. "Everything is a bit jumbled up."

The contents of the chest resemble a pirate's treasure trove in miniature. Some items are inside small boxes, while others are simply left loose. Several necklaces have become tangled around each other.

"Oh, ignore those," says Effie. "They're just cheap trinkets. The items we are interested in are in the boxes at the bottom."

I delve deeper into the chest. Sure enough, below the tangled necklaces and bangles I find a dozen or so different sized boxes. I carefully lift them out and spread them on the table. I lift the lid on each box and my mouth drops in amazement. Most boxes contain a matching set of ring, necklace and earrings. A few contain broaches and other types of jewellery. I return to the chest and remove the two larger boxes at the very bottom. I place them next to the other boxes on the table.

"Ah! I wouldn't bother with those," says Effie before I can open the lids to the last two boxes. "They aren't suitable for a young girl."

Her comment raises my interest, but I do as she asks and focus my attention on the boxes I have opened. I've no idea whether I'm looking at priceless jewels or glass imitations. After studying each box in turn I realise I have subconsciously made my choice.

"May I try this one on?" I ask picking out a ring with a beautiful green gemstone. Effie nods in response.

The ring with the green gem seems to draw me to it in a way none of the other items do. I slip the ring on my finger; it's a snug fit, but not too tight. I try on the necklace and earrings as well and walk over to the mirror. I think they are the most beautiful pieces of jewellery I've ever seen. In the corner of my eye I can see Effie watching me with a strange expression on her face.

"I like these the most," I say to Effie. "May I borrow them this evening? I promise to take good care of them."

"Hmmm. Yet again you surprise me, Katniss. I had expected you to go for the diamond cluster or the rubies. What made you choose the emerald ring and necklace?"

"I don't know. I like several of the other sets, but this ring somehow calls to me. If you think it inappropriate, I'll happily change my choice."

"No, that won't be necessary. As Cinna said, choosing your jewellery is a very personal act. You like what you like. But you said it called to you. What did it say?"

I could be trite and say 'pick me, pick me', but that isn't what I sense. It's more like an energy flowing into me through the ring. It's as though a former wearer of the ring has left her imprint in the ring and she is communicating with me. I try explaining what I sense to Effie.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm being foolish," I say when I finish my lame explanation.

"Interesting," says Effie in reply. "The ring is very old. I've never sensed what you describe, but my great-aunt always claimed the ring was special."

"So the ring and necklace have a history then?"

"The necklace is a more recent piece my great-aunt had made to go with the ring. The ring, however, is hundreds of years old. It is reputed to have been made for the daughter of a great ruler. Legend says that she was a warrior princess who rode into battle at the side of her father. When her father died, and her brother became ruler, the princess devoted the rest of her life and her considerable wealth to helping the poorer people of her lands. It is a perfect match for you Katniss."

I try my best to stifle a laugh. Effie must be joking with me. Warrior, princess and wealth are three words which have never been associated with me, nor are they ever likely to be. Effie doesn't pay my reaction any mind and begins placing the lids back on the other jewellery boxes. A knock at the door stops Effie before she can finish. She leaves me alone while she answers the door.


	2. 1-2 The princess and the professor

1-2. The princess and the professor

Effie goes to the door but doesn't admit the caller into her room. I can hear Effie and another woman talking, but I can't make out what they are discussing. It soon becomes apparent they could be a while. I resume what Effie had started, and close the lids on the remaining jewellery boxes. Then I remove the emerald ring, necklace and earrings I've been wearing and return them to their box, placing it to one side. Effie still hasn't agreed to allow me to wear the emeralds tonight, but I remain hopeful.

On impulse I open one of the boxes Effie had dissuaded me from opening earlier. Inside is a large piece of jewellery. At first glance it looks like a necklace with several gold chains each slightly longer than the one above, meeting at a single point at the back of the wearer's neck. The chains are decorated with small red gems that catch the light. But what makes the piece unusual are the two small shaped metal discs on the lowest chain. The two discs look like flattened cones and each is engraved with a bird in flight. I carefully lift the piece out of its box to examine the engraving. Too late I realise I'm not alone.

"What are you doing, Katniss?" asks Effie.

"Oh! Oh! I'm sorry," I stammer. "I didn't mean any harm. I was just looking."

"Well, well, well, Effie," says the woman standing next to Effie. "I can't believe you still have that piece."

I look up and see Effie has invited two people into the room. The woman looks very like Effie, so I presume she is Effie's sister or cousin. My heart sinks when I recognise Effie's male guest. Cato!

"What's going on?" I ask, suddenly feeling very wary.

"Don't worry, Katniss," replies Effie. "This is my sister, Sylvie. The Gamemakers have assigned her to be the coordinator for the District Two tributes this year. Cato you know, of course."

While I recognise Cato, I can hardly claim to know him. Seeing him here like this does funny things to my emotions. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm attracted to him. An attraction which could spell my doom. Ever since I first saw him I must constantly remind myself that Cato is a dangerous enemy; not someone I can trust with my affections.

Sylvie takes the necklace from me and holds it up to my breasts. If Cato wasn't in the room I would die of embarrassment. I now realise the purpose of the spring-clips on the underside of the metal cones. Effie was right … this isn't something a decent young girl should wear. But Cato's presence and my hunter's skills save me from revealing my naïvety. I remember the golden rule which my father instilled in me when we hunted together; 'Never show weakness in front of a dangerous predator'. I brazen the episode through by making light of the situation.

"What do you think, Cato?" I tease. "Do you think I should wear this tonight? Will Caesar Flickerman like it?"

My self confidence takes an enormous leap forward when I see Cato is struggling for words. Sylvie saves him from having to answer my questions.

"Don't flirt with Cato, Katniss," she admonishes. "What you wear is up to you. If you want to look like a prostitute, then that's up to you."

"That piece has never belonged to a prostitute, Sylvie," exclaims Effie. "You know it was made for our great-aunt Sophie."

Cato and I just stand and watch as Effie and Sylvie have an extended spat over the occupation and morals of the great-aunt in question. In other circumstances their quarrel would be funny. But inside this small room, their quarrel is making me feel uncomfortable.

"We could go for a drink or something while they finish scratching their eyes out," says Cato. "I saw a café of sorts just down the corridor."

"Um … Yeah, sure," I reply, anxious to get out of here.

"Cato and I are going to the café while you two sort out your differences," I manage to say to Effie during a moments respite in her row with Sylvie. I don't wait to see if what I say registers in her mind.

Cato shows me the way to the café he saw earlier. The café is quiet since almost everybody in the Training Centre is busy preparing for tonight's television interviews. Fortunately Haymitch has provided me with a small amount of pocket money for situations like this. It seems Cato's mentor has done the same. We each order a drink and sit down at one of the tables.

"You really are an enigma," says Cato in a pleasant tone. "Would you really wear a piece of jewellery like that?"

"Perhaps," I reply, knowing I wouldn't really do any such thing.

"So, tell me about yourself," says Cato.

I'm not going to fall for that one! Cato must think me really stupid if he believes I'll reveal all my strengths and weaknesses to him. I haven't forgotten that we will be deadly rivals once we enter the arena tomorrow. I'm relieved when I see the expression on Cato's face. He's just fishing and knows I won't tell him anything important.

"I'm really a warrior princess who rides into battle alongside my father," I say, playing along with Effie's story about the emerald ring's history. "When I'm not fighting battles, I spend my time helping the poor people of our realm."

"Oh, really?" replies Cato. "Well that explains why you volunteered for your poor sister, and also why the Gamemakers awarded you a score of eleven at the end of the training sessions. And I suppose Katniss isn't your real name."

"No, of course not," I reply. "It's … um … Mihrimah."

"Ah! Mihrimah. A name which means 'the sun and moon' does it not?" laughs Cato. "We obviously like the same relaxation programme at night. How does the background commentary go? Ah yes, I remember, '… The Ancients believe that _mih ri mah_ , the sun and moon, protect the emerald forest …'. I think you aren't being entirely truthful with me, princess."

I can't help but join in his laughter. There are dozens of relaxation programmes available in our rooms. What are the chances of Cato watching the same one that I like? The quiet forest scenes fill one wall of my room and remind me of the woods back at home. The music and gentle commentary in the background lulls me to sleep at night.

"So, I've told you about me. What about you?" I reply.

"Oh me? I'm but a humble scholar who studies history … law … science … um," begins Cato.

"Really? I would never have thought you to be so well educated, professor," I tease.

"There is a lot you don't know about me, princess."

"I know. It's a shame we can't talk to each other like normal people," I say. "Tomorrow we will be expected to try and kill each other."

"Tomorrow, yes," replies Cato. "But today we can at least be civil to each other. We must have a lot in common. We both like the same relaxation programme, and we are both crazy enough to have volunteered to be here."

"I'm not certain my volunteering at the reaping in place of my younger sister is quite the same as your situation," I reply. "You must have spent years being trained for these Games."

"Even so, like you, nobody forced me to volunteer at the reaping. There were other boys from the Academy who would have jumped at the chance had I chosen not to volunteer. I had merely earned the right to volunteer first."

"If that's so, then what made you volunteer?"

"Winning the Hunger Games will secure my future," replies Cato. "Far better than spending the rest of my life working in the quarries for twelve hours a day and inadequate wages."

"Winning the Games will simply give you a more comfortable prison," I say. "How many victors have you seen who have gone on to live a normal life? None, I bet. All of them are at the beck and call of the Gamemakers. Most victors are drunks or drug addicts. Some are only marginally sane. Only a few have raised children."

"You have obviously studied the subject," replies Cato. "You are right, I suppose. But I've no intention of ever having children, and I'm strong enough to avoid seeking comfort in alcohol and drugs. How about you? Don't you pine for a family of your own."

"Me? I wouldn't be so irresponsible as to bring a child into the world we live in."

"But if the world changed, would you want children then?" asks Cato.

"Perhaps," I muse. "But changing Panem doesn't seem likely. No, it seems I'm destined to die a virgin."

"You still have time."

"To do what? To change Panem? Hardly."

"No. To solve your other problem."

"Is that some form of District Two pick-up line?" I laugh. "When and where do you suggest we do the deed? Might I remind you we have Caesar Flickerman's show tonight; and tomorrow we both have an appointment with death."

"I shall work something out. I'm greatly encouraged by the fact you don't reject the idea out of hand."


	3. 1-3 Game in progress

1-3. Game in progress

I'm surprised. Not by Cato's words, but by my own behaviour. For some reason I'm not being my normal shy and easily embarrassed self. Not that I mind. This whole conversation makes me feel so alive. I lean forward and look into Cato's eyes, daring him to respond. He matches my movement and we are sitting face to face, only centimetres apart.

Then everything turns into chaos. Just as I am contemplating sharing a kiss with Cato, Haymitch arrives. He's not alone. Three security guards and Cato's mentor are with him.

"What on earth do you think you are doing, Katniss?" growls Haymitch. "Effie raised the alarm when she realised you had left her room. Don't you remember any of the personal security instructions you were given?"

I glare at Haymitch, trying my best to restrain my anger. I'm about to let fly with a tirade, when Cato places his hand on my arm.

"Katniss and I came out here while Sylvie and Effie had a sisterly reunion," says Cato. "Katniss told Effie where we were going. It's hardly Katniss's fault if Effie didn't listen."

"Hmmph … Well … OK … I suppose," blusters Haymitch, unable to find anything wrong with what Cato has just said. "But you two should not be together without supervision. Come on Katniss. We shall return to our apartment."

"We were hardly unsupervised," Cato replies. "The café proprietor was here. And we were never out of sight of the security cameras."

Cato seems to have quietened Haymitch's thunder. I'm still angry with Haymitch, but I will hold my wrath in check until we are back inside our apartment.

"Thank you for a pleasant interlude, professor," I say as I stand up. "As you can see, I'm summoned back to reality. Such are the trials of a Hunger Games' tribute."

"And thank you, princess, for bestowing a humble scholar with the honour of your regal company," replies Cato in a mischievous tone.

I can't help but laugh despite my anger with Haymitch. On impulse I lean over and kiss Cato on the lips. I don't know whether I do it simply to annoy Haymitch, or to fuel Cato's interest in me. Either way my action scores a bullseye.

"We must do this again sometime," I reply.

I don't get to hear Cato's response. Haymitch grabs my arm and frog-marches me back to the District Twelve apartment. Neither of us says anything on the journey back to our apartment. It is only Effie's relief and delight at seeing me that prevents me from launching into Haymitch the second we arrive. Cinna is here as well.

"Well? Are you going to explain yourself?" asks Haymitch firmly, but without the venom he added to his question when I was with Cato.

"Cato told you what happened. Effie and I were looking at jewellery in her room when Effie's sister, Sylvie, stopped by with Cato in tow. Sylvie and Effie got into a row, so Cato and I stepped out while they sorted out their differences. End of story."

"Not 'end of story', Katniss. What were you and Cato discussing?" persists Haymitch.

"Haymitch!" I say, barely holding my anger in check. "I appreciate your help and advice as my mentor, but you are not my mother. I don't have to explain to you what I say and do with a boy."

"Yes you do," replies Haymitch, unmoved by my reply. "While you are here in the Training Centre I am responsible for your safety. Your battle for survival doesn't start when you enter the arena. The Games have already begun. Until you enter the arena, I need to know about your every move so I can protect you. Now, I repeat my question; what were you and Cato discussing?"

I look at Haymitch, then Cinna, and finally Effie. As soon as I do I realise this isn't an argument I'm going to win.

"Fine! Have it your way," I sigh. "We were just talking about a make believe life and family."

"And what was the meaning of the kiss?" asks Haymitch, still not willing to let the matter drop.

"It's what a boy and a girl do when they like each other," I reply.

"You like him!?" splutters Haymitch. "In case you've forgotten, he's going to be trying to kill you tomorrow!"

"And I him," I reply. "That doesn't mean we don't like each other. The Gamemakers can throw us into the arena and make us fight to the death, but they can't tell us who to love or hate."

"I can't believe this," sighs Haymitch. "Effie, please try to make her see sense."

Effie hesitates. Only an hour ago she had asked Cinna to do the same thing. I think they collectively believe I'm a lost cause. I decide to give them an opportunity to cast me adrift.

"I know you think I'm obstinate and moody," I say before Effie can begin a lecture. "You don't have to help me if you don't want. I know I'm going to die, but I want live what is left of my life on my own terms. I won't think any less of you if you simply wash your hands of me."

There's a stunned silence. I've taken Haymitch and Effie by surprise. They look at Cinna, who simply smiles.

"What did I tell you?" says Cinna. "The Girl of Fire is not just a public relations name for her. It's in her soul. I for one will be proud to help Katniss for as long as she needs me."

"Yes, me too," says Effie. "When we are finished here I shall fetch the emeralds you liked, Katniss. You'll knock the audience dead wearing those tonight."

"Well it looks as though your attempts to ditch your support team have failed," says Haymitch. "And I'm no quitter. Did you know that you are the twenty-fourth female District Twelve tribute I've mentored?"

"Yes. I know. And I bet the previous twenty-three didn't cause you half as many problems as I cause you," I say.

"True. But the other difference between you and your predecessors is that, despite my best efforts, they entered the arena with no chance of winning. You, however, have the necessary survival instincts to come through this alive."

"Does that mean you are allowing me a free reign to do what I want tonight?" I ask.

"No. Of course not. You're still a novice at the underhand games which will be played out behind the scenes tonight. In fact they've already begun. Doesn't it strike you as strange that Sylvie and Cato just happened to call at Effie's room while you were there? Was it you or Cato who suggested going to the café when Sylvie and Effie started arguing? Do you think Cato is really interested in you, or is he simply trying to gain useful information which he can use against you in the arena?"

"Those thoughts had crossed my mind," I reply. "I agree. I don't believe Cato's presence in Effie's room was a coincidence. But which of us gains the upper hand as a consequence is still a game in progress."

"What do you mean, Katniss? What game?"

"I intend to see Cato again when I can. He may be physically stronger than I am, but he can't use his strength against me until we are inside the arena. However, when it comes to mind games, I think the odds are in my favour. I shall find out when I next see him."

"You are playing a dangerous game, Katniss. I advise you to abandon your quest. If you fail, Cato and the other Careers will target you for early elimination tomorrow."

"The score of eleven the Gamemakers gave me already makes me their target. Cato's appearance this morning only confirms it. My best chance is to weaken Cato's resolve to attack me. He must either fear me or love me."

"If that is your strategy, then I salute your cunning," says Haymitch. "But I still advise against it. There is very little Effie, Cinna or I can do to help you."

"I don't ask for your help. All I ask is that you don't hinder my hunt."

"Very well," says Haymitch. "Providing you keep me informed of your whereabouts. Kidnapping a tribute before they enter the arena is a very risky tactic, but it has been tried before. Remember, if you fail to turn up tomorrow morning, it will be your sister who is fetched and thrown into the arena with no chance to prepare."

"How about we let Katniss's try on her dress with the jewellery she has chosen," says Cinna. "Peeta will be returning soon for lunch. It will be better if we have finished the fitting before he arrives."

"Where is Peeta?" I ask, suddenly remembering he was scheduled to be with Haymitch this morning.

"We finished early," says Haymitch. "He went down to the training rooms to practise his skills."

"Is he still angry with me?" I ask.

"Angry with you? Why do you think he is angry with you?" asks Haymitch.

"We were training together for the first few days and then he suddenly didn't want anything more to do with me. Something I did must have made him do that."

"You have already identified the reason, Katniss," says Effie. "You said your best chance of survival is when your rivals either fear you or love you. Cato isn't the only boy who will be in the arena."

"But why would Peeta fear me? We were getting along fine until the other day."

"He doesn't fear you, Katniss," says Haymitch. "Well, not much."

"Then he … oh!" I say.


	4. 1-4 A little tenderness

1-4. A little tenderness

The dress Cinna has designed is waiting for me in my room and I quickly change in to it. I'm busy admiring myself in the mirror when Effie returns with her emerald ring, necklace and earrings. She fastens the necklace for me and for the first time I see the combined effect of Cinna's dress and Effie's emeralds.

"Perfect," says Effie. I can't help but agree with her. If looks alone could see me through tonight's interview, then I would be home and dry. But I must still navigate my way through the interview. I need to be eloquent and confident in my responses to Caesar Flickerman's questions. Not because I want to impress any potential sponsors, but because Cato and the other tributes will be watching my every move.

"Do you think Cato will like my outfit?" I ask Effie.

"Cato? Hmmm … I think you will snare him with these emeralds."

"Do you think I have a better chance if I wear that piece which belonged to your great-aunt Sophie?" I ask, remembering Cato's reaction when he saw it. "Who was this great-aunt of yours anyway?"

"Sophie? Oh, she was a famous dancer. Her stage name was Desire. She lived a very bohemian life and my parents regarded as the black sheep of the family. But I liked her. I used to visit Sophie quite often when I was young, so I knew Sophie much better than did Sylvie or any of my other sisters. That's why Sophie left her jewellery to me when she died. The emeralds were hers as well. A gift from a man she lived with for many years."

"Have you ever worn her jewellery?" I ask.

"The emeralds, yes, but not that piece you were looking at when Syvlie intruded. I've never been in a situation where it was appropriate to wear it. It's not the sort of jewellery you wear in public places, and it takes a certain amount of confidence and practise to wear it. You do understand how it should be worn, don't you?"

"Yes. Thanks to Sylvie's demonstration, I know how it fastens," I say, giving Effie a demonstration using my fingers to represent the spring-clips. "You would need a thin top to stop it sliding off, though."

"Or no top at all," laughs Effie. "But we are getting side-tracked. Peeta will be here soon. If we are done I suggest you change back into your regular clothes.

"Effie, could I borrow that piece of Sophie's I saw earlier?"

"What!? There is no way you are wearing that to the interview tonight."

"No, of course I won't. I do have some sense of propriety. But I might be able to use it to snare Cato."

I put on my most winsome smile and Effie finally agrees after some hesitation. She must have anticipated my request as she has the box with Sophie's piece in her bag. She hands it to me.

"You knew I was going to ask to borrow this," I say.

"I didn't know, but I suspected you might when you noticed Cato's interest," smiles Effie. "You had best try it on. You might not be able to keep it in place."

I find a thin top and return to Effie. She hands me the piece and watches as I nervously place the discs in position. I anticipated a certain amount of discomfort from the pressure of the clips, but the initial pain is almost unbearable. But fortunately the pain soon passes and after a short while I can only sense the weight of the piece on my breasts.

"Now try walking about," says Effie. "Try to shake it loose. We need to see whether it will stay in place."

I do as Effie suggests and try moving into several different positions. The piece remains firmly in place, but several movements cause me to wince in pain as the weight or tension in the linking chain pulls against me. After a few minutes Effie seems satisfied with my first attempt at wearing it.

"OK," says Effie. "You can take the piece off."

What sounds like the simplest of tasks turns out to be the most excruciatingly painful experience I could imagine. As soon as the clips are removed, the numbness quickly goes and my body protests strongly. I bite my lips to prevent myself from crying out. If I fail this last test, then Effie might not let me borrow the piece. I rub my chest gently to ease the pain, and after a while only a little tenderness remains.

"Hmmm. Do you still wish to borrow this piece?" asks Effie as she places it back in its box.

I nod and Effie hands me the box. I give her a hug in thanks, being careful not to aggravate my tender breasts. The sound of Peeta's voice coming from the dining area prompts me to finish changing and join the others for lunch.

By the time Effie and I join them, Haymitch, Peeta and Cinna are already eating at the table. Effie and I go over to the side table where the buffet is laid out, and we select some food. Peeta looks at me as I sit down opposite him, but he doesn't say anything. After Haymitch's revelation earlier about Peeta's feelings towards me, I'm not certain what to say to Peeta.

"Were there many tribute's in the training room this morning?" I ask Peeta, more to make him to talk to me than any real interest in the movements of the other tributes.

"Um … No. I was alone for most of the time. Cato joined me for a while, but a woman called him away. When he returned he looked like a cat who had fallen into a bowl of cream."

I immediately realise the importance of what Peeta is saying about Cato, but it is Haymitch who quizzes Peeta for more details. By the time he's done, I have no doubt that Sylvie was the woman Peeta saw, and Cato was summoned to gather information from me. A very slick operation, but one which may still end in my favour.

When we first arrived in the Capitol, Peeta and I used to wolf our food down in case it disappeared before our hunger was satisfied. Now we eat at a more leisurely pace. We would have time for a pleasant conversation if Peeta showed any inclination to talk. He simply eats in silence, although his eyes rarely leave me. After a while his staring starts to annoy me. I'm about to say something rude when Effie puts her hand on my arm.

"Perhaps if you stopped rubbing your breasts, Peeta wouldn't stare at them so, Katniss," whispers Effie in my ear.

I drop my hands in a flash and suddenly feel awkward. The tenderness hasn't quite worn off, and I must have been trying to sooth my breasts without thinking about what I was doing. From Peeta's reaction he must have heard Effie's words and I don't know which of us is the more embarrassed.

"Er … Sorry, Peeta," I say. "Effie and I were trying on some jewellery and one of the pieces is quite heavy. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"Um … that's OK. I didn't mean to stare. That's a nice ring, by the way."

I suddenly realise I've left the emerald ring on my finger. In my haste to get changed I forgot to take it off and return it to Effie. Fortunately Effie doesn't seem to mind.

"Yes, it's an emerald," I reply. "Effie has been kind enough to let me borrow it for the interview tonight."

"Well you will look a very fine lady when you walk up onto the stage," says Peeta.

"Actually, I'm not going for the fine lady look. I think the warrior princess style is more appropriate for tonight. What do you think?"

"I don't know," replies Peeta. "Haymitch said that sponsors might be put off from helping you if they think that you are …".

"That will do, Peeta," says Haymitch. "Once we have finished lunch, Katniss and I will have our discussion about how she should handle her interview."

Haymitch's interruption stifles any further conversation, and we finish lunch in silence. After lunch, Peeta, Cinna, and Effie leave the apartment so Peeta can try on his outfit for tonight. I'm left alone with Haymitch.

"So," I begin. "Are you going to tell me what you told Peeta?"

"No," replies Haymitch. "I told Peeta what he needs to know and believe. Which isn't necessarily the same thing that you need to know and believe. You and Peeta are very different people when it comes to handling interviews. Peeta has a natural gift that makes people instantly like him. You, on the other hand, have a knack of annoying and confusing people. I know you confuse me. You scowl at people you should please, and flash your eyelids at people you should avoid. Tell me how you think you should portray yourself tonight."

"I thought it was your job to tell me," I reply. "I've no idea. I know I hate trying to read from a script."

"Which is why I don't think anything we rehearse here this afternoon is going to help you. You are at your best when you are being spontaneous. My only advice to you is to remember that you need to attract sponsors; and you must …"

Haymitch lists a dozen or so pieces of advice, most which I forget as soon as he has said them. Perhaps this is his revenge for my earlier behaviour.

"Now what?" I ask when Haymitch has finished his speech.

"Well, if you want another crack at Cato, I suggest you go down to the training rooms. I think he's another tribute who doesn't know the value of his mentor's help and advice.


	5. 1-5 A rendezvous in the training room

1-5. Rendezvous in the training room

I know it is hard for Haymitch to mentor two tributes at the same time … a consequence of him being the only District Twelve victor from previous Hunger Games still alive. He is expected to split his time and efforts equally between Peeta and I. Which means I should be angry with Haymitch for spending hours coaching Peeta for tonight, but less than five minutes with me. But I'm not angry. In fact I'm relieved. The prospect of meeting Cato again makes me forget my antagonism towards Haymitch. I return to my room and change into something appropriate for the training room. I grab what I need and return to our apartment's lounge where Haymitch is already preparing a drink for himself.

"Remember to keep me informed of your whereabouts, sweetheart," says Haymitch, clearly contemplating a serious drinking session ahead.

"Sure," I reply. "But only if you stay sober."

"Don't fret about me," says Haymitch.

Despite what Haymitch thinks about my cavalier attitude, his earlier warning about underhand tricks has not gone unheeded. I know I'm on a dangerous hunt with an uncertain outcome. If Haymitch has too many drinks then he's not going to be any help to me if I run into trouble. Perhaps he's doing this deliberately to make me abandon my plan. But there's too much at stake for me to stop now. I remind myself that I should be safe enough in the well monitored training room.

I'm disappointed when I find the training room is empty, apart from the ever present security guard near the door. All the weapons have been locked away and only the gymnastic equipment is available for use. I leave my bag on a chair and make a few practise vaults before moving onto the other equipment. I soon build up a routine and my disappointment at not meeting Cato subsides. My exercises gradually get more challenging and I'm pleased my body doesn't complain too much. Even so, I decide against over-doing it and after fifteen minutes I stop for a break.

While I'm regaining my breath the door opens. In walks Cato and Effie's sister, Sylvie. The security guard prevents Sylvie from entering the main part of the training area, so she and Cato stop for a conversation. I can't hear what they are saying, but from their body language, it is clear Cato is being given instructions. Sylvie leaves a few moments later and Cato comes over to me.

"Hello again, princess," says Cato. While he tries to sound carefree, he is clearly annoyed at something Sylvie has said.

"Hello, professor," I reply, keeping up our imaginary roles we each created during our meeting this morning. "Something wrong?"

"No. Why should there be anything wrong?" he replies defensively, clearly trying to divert my curiosity.

"Do you want to train together?" I ask, not wanting to push him into clamming up entirely.

"Sure. Do you want to practise wrestling?"

"I don't think either of our mentors will approve of us doing that," I reply. "After all, I might accidentally dislocate your shoulder or something. I wouldn't want to embarrass you by causing you turn up to Caesar Flickerman's interview tonight with your arm in a sling."

"Ha ha ha!" scoffs Cato. "You would be welcome to try, but I think the only dislocated shoulder will be yours. I wouldn't want your sling to obscure the audience's view of your jewels of desire."

Cato's reference to 'desire' means Sylvie has probably briefed him. Cato has only seen the piece Sylvie held up to my breasts, and no mention of the name Desire was made while Cato and I were in Effie's room.

"Jewels of desire, that's a nice name. What made you think of that?" I reply.

"Well I admit Sylvie helped. According to her, that piece you showed me this morning was part of a costume known as the Jewels of Desire."

A costume! Of course! I suddenly realise what is in the second jewellery box Effie discouraged me from looking inside. My imagination runs riot. What sort of clothes would you wear with jewellery like that? The answer hits me immediately … you don't. The jewellery **is** the costume.

"Well, I wouldn't want to spoil your treat this evening," I say. "Perhaps we should try something that involves less body contact. Can you dance?"

"Woah! Do you mean you are really wearing that piece tonight?" asks Cato.

"All I will say is that I'm wearing some of the jewels of Desire tonight," I say cryptically. "But I think that piece you saw might be more appropriate for a private audience."

"How private?"

"Um … I was thinking of just me and one other. I haven't decided who yet. Are you interested? You made an offer this morning to help me with a problem. If you were serious, then I might consider you."

To say Cato looks interested is an understatement. I can practically see Cato's tongue hanging out, drooling. I've got him in my snare; all I have to do now is haul him in.

"Yeah! You can count me in," says Cato.

"Well, we shall see, then. I think it only fair to warn you that you have a rival."

"A rival! Tell me who he is and I shall dispose of him immediately."

"No, you will not! Tomorrow will be the time for violence; I'll not tolerate any today. Besides, you are assuming your rival is a 'he'. You must have seen the way Clove watches some of the girls during training."

"Somehow I believe my rival is male," replies Cato. "Besides, Clove eyes up other girls like a cat watches a tasty mouse. I'll give you some free advice … keep away from Clove in the arena. She likes to play with her victims."

"Tell me something I haven't already worked out for myself," I laugh.

"You could join our alliance if you want. I'm sure I can talk the others into accepting you," replies Cato.

The Careers must be wary of me if Cato is offering an alliance. He is offering a poisoned chalice though. These alliances only hold until the majority of the other tributes are killed, and then it becomes everyone for themselves. If you aren't careful, the first you know about the alliance ending is when one of your former allies stabs you in the back.

"I work best on my own," I reply. "But thanks for the offer."

"You must have supreme confidence in your skills if you believe you can fend off twenty-three other tributes single handed."

"Ah, but I won't need to fight twenty-three tributes, because you and your alliance will be slaughtering many of them."

"True. But you could easily find yourself one of them," says Cato, coming close to admitting that the Careers have marked me as a priority target.

"All the more reason for me to take care of my interests by myself. That's enough talk of tomorrow. Let's see you dance."

I walk over to a control panel where the music console is located and select some lively dance music. The music begins and I guide Cato to an area of the floor clear of all the gym equipment. I rarely dance at home … there's never time nor reason to do so … but my body is fit and being stealthy on a hunt isn't wildly different from being graceful on the dance floor. I find the rhythm and before long Cato matches my movements. It's an improvised dance which won't win any awards, but it's fun. Before long Cato and I are dancing together to the same simple routine.

The music eventually runs out and we stop for a rest. Cato is out of breath while my breathing is only slightly faster than normal. A fact which I tuck away in my mind for future reference. I look at Cato and he looks at me. Without thinking we close for a kiss. A kiss which soon becomes quite passionate. Cato's hands start to roam over my body and I only just remember the security guard watching us. I halt Cato's amorous advances.

"Not in here," I say. "We're being watched."

"I know somewhere where we can be alone and unobserved," says Cato.

"Really? Where?" I ask.

"I have the key to the room next to Sylvie's in the annex. The room was allocated to District Two but it isn't being used. What do you think?"

"I'll have to tell Haymitch where I am," I reply. "I can't promise he won't come storming in to protect my morals."

"Then don't tell him," says Cato. "I promise you'll be returned safe and sound in plenty of time for tonight's interviews."

I know the dangers in what Cato is suggesting, but my hormones are working double time at the moment. I've felt very different ever since I first tried on the emerald ring. Yesterday I would have run a mile rather than contemplate doing what Cato suggests. Now I'm seriously thinking about throwing caution to the wind and taking up Cato's offer.


	6. 1-6 Soft and compliant

1-6. Soft and compliant

Cato escorts me towards the room he mentioned. Like this morning, there are only a few other people about in the annex. Preparations for the interviews tonight are consuming nearly everyone's time. This is the most dangerous part of my quest. As soon as I enter the room I will no longer be visible to the security cameras which scan every corner of the public space. Anything that happens inside this room will only be known to Cato and I. If Cato has set a trap for me, then there will be no witnesses to point an accusing finger in his direction. But nothing ventured; nothing gained.

We enter the room which is furnished exactly the same as Effie's room. There's no sign of anyone's personal belongings, which means Cato has at least been truthful about the room being unused. Cato must sense my nervousness about being here, but he incorrectly assumes I'm having last minute doubts about being intimate with him.

"We have plenty of time, princess. We don't need to rush things."

"I know. But it would be a shame to waste our time in private doing things we could just as easily do in the training room."

Cato doesn't need any further prompting. He moves closer to me and seconds later we are locked in another kiss. To my surprise he doesn't simply strip me, throw me on the bed, and claim his prize. He shows a lot more restraint than I expected. Which gives my body time to respond to his ardent attention.

After a while I realise his moves are not simply to please me alone. The longer our fervent entanglement goes on, the greater our combined arousal. In the end it is I who pulls us both onto the bed. I quickly kick off my shoes and make a silent invitation for Cato to move onto the next stage. I am running on pure instinct since nothing I have experienced before guides my actions. I am too far gone in the stratosphere of sexual emotions to worry about the risks and consequences of my behaviour. From Cato's fevered look, I think he too has passed the point of no return.

I let Cato dictate the pace of our union. Doing so gives me the chance to relax and enjoy the experience without worrying about how well or poorly I am doing. That's not to say that I simply let Cato do all the work without reward. I've heard enough schoolgirl gossip to know a few rudimentary tricks to encourage Cato to keep up his efforts.

Cato must prefer his bed partner to be soft and compliant. Either that, or he is content to let the girl choose the level of physical play involved in the coupling. This is new territory for me and I've no idea whether I prefer this or a more physical entanglement. We could actually wrestle and fight until he uses his greater strength to subdue me. I suppose that might be fun if played correctly. For now I'm content to learn from Cato's obvious experience.

Cato's skills in seducing a maiden are every bit as potent as his fighting skills I have witnessed during training. I don't recall him removing my top. His demanding kisses make me lose track of what is happening. If I was being sensible I'd stop the whole thing right away. But sensible Katniss never entered this room. The Katniss in this room is simply a wanton hussy.

I don't bother keeping track of time so I've no idea how long it takes before we finally reach the climax of our union. I'm far too aroused to note anything other than the extreme pleasure every pore of my body feels. And no sooner are we done than Cato begins the whole process again.

Finally exhaustion overcomes us and we doze in each others arms for a while. Unfortunately reality eventually catches up with us. Cato looks at the clock beside the bed and lets out a quiet curse.

"I must report to my mentor in ten minutes to dress for tonight's interview," says Cato.

I look at the clock and I'm surprised by how late it is. Haymitch didn't give me a specific time to be back in the apartment, but I will probably need to return sometime within the next hour. Cato will be among the first batch of tributes to be transported to the television studio, Peeta and I will be in the last batch nearly an hour later.

"Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, princess," says Cato will true feeling. "I regret we must end our interlude and return to the real world. I don't even have time for a shower, but you are welcome to do so before you leave."

Our wild games have left me in need of a shower. Returning to our apartment in my current state will only attract more criticism from Haymitch. Not that I care what Haymitch thinks, but I would like to savour my current mood for as long as possible. I give Cato a farewell kiss before he leaves.

"I never did see you wearing that piece of jewellery I saw this morning," says Cato. "Are you doing anything later tonight? Perhaps you can wear it after Caesar Flickerman's show is over?"

"I'll be going to bed after the show," I reply. "In case you've forgotten, we have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."

"I hadn't forgotten, but good luck in trying to sleep. Very few tributes manage to sleep the night before entering the Hunger Games arena. I don't intend to try. Our mentors are throwing a party for the District One and Two tributes in the annex conference room. Unfortunately it's a private function so I can't invite you. Not that it would be wise for you to come even if I could. But I could slip out and meet you."

We leave the issue of our meeting tonight unresolved. Cato leaves and I go to the bathroom to shower. There are soap and towels ready for use and I don't hesitate to step into the welcoming water. I take my time and wash my body and hair thoroughly. I'm busy drying myself when I hear a noise from the main room. Has Cato returned?

I'm cautious enough to only open the bathroom door enough to take a peek through the crack. I catch sight of Sylvie busy looking through my bag. Not that she'll find much, but she's clearly up to no good. I quickly finish drying and slip on the plain white dressing gown conveniently hanging behind the door. I step into the main room and see Sylvie standing facing me. My bag is lying on the table where I had originally left it. If I hadn't seen Sylvie looking inside my bag, I wouldn't have realised she had touched it.

"Er … Hello Katniss. Cato asked me to clean up the room. I didn't realise you were still here."

"I'm about to leave. I'll help you tidy up if you like."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. You had best get dressed and be on your way. Effie and Haymitch will be wondering where you are."

I dress while Sylvie makes a half-hearted attempt at tidying the bathroom. Her presence here is suspicious. The Training Centre has a whole battalion of Avoxes to do the menial housekeeping tasks. Sylvie's efforts are completely unnecessary. I finish dressing and walk over to my bag so I can retrieve my comb. I'm about to reach for my bag when I become acutely aware that Sylvie is watching me like a hawk. Suddenly I become very suspicious that Sylvie has done something to my bag. I stop in my tracks and abandon my intended move.

"Is there a comb in the bathroom?" I ask Sylvie, who is now standing at the bathroom door.

Sylvie takes her eyes off me for a moment and looks inside the bathroom. I use her temporary absence to make a visual inspection of my bag. I nearly cry out in alarm when I see the danger. A needle is pointing out of my bag in a position where it would probably jab me if I tried to open the bag. That didn't get there by accident.

"Oh, it's OK," I call to Sylvie. "I've just remembered I've one in my bag … Ow!"

"Are you OK?" asks Sylvie, coming into the room in response to my cry of pain.

"There's something sharp in my bag," I say, clutching my right hand. "I pricked my hand. How did this needle get there?"

I hold up the offending needle which I've pulled clear of my bag.

"You really should be careful, Katniss," says Sylvie in a tone that I haven't heard her use before. "Needles can cause all sorts of infections. How are you feeling?"

"I'm OK, I think. Do you think I should get myself checked out by a doctor?"

"No. I wouldn't bother. Any infection you get from a little jab like that will almost certainly clear up within 24 hours."

"Did you put the needle there?" I ask, moving over to the bed and sitting down with a thump.

"Ah, guilty as charged, I'm afraid," smirks Sylvie. "A small dose of a hallucinogenic drug to make you slightly dizzy and disoriented for a while. Just enough to sabotage your interview tonight and leave you as easy prey in the arena."

I could ask her why she has done this, but Haymitch warned me about underhand tricks. I should have realised that the animosity between Effie and her sister meant each was fiercely partisan to their own tributes.

"You are taking a big risk making such an admission. What happens when I tell everyone what you've done?"

"Few people will believe you, and even fewer will care. You've no proof. The drug will have disappeared from the needle when it jabbed you. I'm afraid it's your word against mine. Last minute nerves have disabled many tributes in the past. It's such a shame!"

"That's not very sporting of you, Sylvie," I say as I stand up and stab her arm with the needle.

"Such a temper, girl," winces Sylvie as she removes the needle from her arm. "As I said, the drug will have wiped off the needle when it jabbed you."

I could gloat and point out that the needle didn't jab me, so the drug was still on the needle when I stabbed Sylvie. But I decide to let her make that discovery for herself. I grab my bag and return to our apartment without looking back.


	7. 1-7 Sabotage

1-7. Sabotage

I enter our apartment to find Haymitch, Peeta, Cinna and Effie in the middle of what I can only describe as a crisis meeting. At first I think the crisis is somehow my fault.

"I left word where I was on the answer-phone," I say before anyone can accuse me of doing a disappearing act.

"Yes, we got your message," says Cinna. "Effie wanted to fetch you, but we thought we had better come up with a solution before we told you. But you're here now anyway."

"So what's the problem?" I ask, relieved that for once I'm not the cause of the crisis.

"It appears a maintenance man called this afternoon to fix a problem with the entertainment console in your room," says Cinna.

"But there's nothing wrong with the console in my room," I say.

"Well I didn't know that," snaps Haymitch, for once directing his anger at someone other than me.

"If you weren't so drunk you could have kept an eye on him, Haymitch," says Effie.

"So what happened?" I ask.

"Sabotage!" says Peeta. "The maintenance man tampered with your dress for tonight."

I look at Cinna for an explanation.

"A chemical has been sprayed onto your dress. I'm having it analysed. It is likely an irritant or mild poison. Nothing that would be noticeable to anyone picking up your dress, but powerful enough to cause the wearer a few problems after a short while. It was lucky I was suspicious when Haymitch told me about the visitor in your room."

"Can the chemical be removed?" asks Effie.

"Probably, once we identify it. But that would take too long. We have less than an hour before Peeta and Katniss must leave for the studio."

"I'll fetch some of my dresses," says Effie. "Perhaps one might fit Katniss with only minimal alterations."

While I appreciate Effie's offer of help, her taste in clothes is very different from mine. I'd rather wear my own dress … the one I was wearing at the reaping. But that would be only as a last resort. I decide to take matters into my own hands.

"Effie, thank you for your offer of help," I say. "This is what I would like you to bring."

I give Effie a short list of things I know she has in her room. If she thinks my request strange, she has the decency to refrain from voicing her opinion aloud. She doesn't hesitate and goes off to her room to fetch what I requested.

"Peeta, thanks for your help, but I can manage with Cinna and Effie's assistance from here," I say. "You had best go and get ready yourself."

Peeta seems relieved and nods in agreement. He has wasted precious time dealing with a problem that shouldn't have involved him in the first place.

"And what about me?" says Haymitch, still slightly inebriated from his earlier drinking session.

"You can stand guard and make sure no more maintenance men enter our apartment," I say.

My dress is no longer on the hook where I left it. A slight stain on the wall behind where it was could be residue from the chemical spray. I point to the stain and Cinna nods in response.

"That stain is what alerted me to the problem. We've checked your room for listening bugs and other unwelcome additions," says Cinna. "The man was only here for a few minutes, so won't have had time to do much. I think it is likely he was sent specifically to sabotage your dress for tonight. Once we've identified the chemical I'll have the rest of your clothes and bedding checked."

"So I can't even wear my own dress?" I say.

"Not until it is checked, no. I'm sorry, I've let you down. I should have had a backup set of clothes for you. I'm new to these dirty game too."

"Are the rest of the team arriving soon to do my make-up?" I ask.

"Yes, in about 10 minutes. But you still have nothing to wear."

I explain my plan to Cinna, who listens carefully. He goes thoughtful for a while before going into the lounge to make a telephone call. Effie returns laden with the items I requested just as Cinna completes his call.

The next half-hour is a whirlwind of activity inside my room. To my surprise neither Cinna nor Effie oppose my decision to take personal responsibility for my costume tonight. Their comments are helpful and supportive as my costume takes shape. A few additions thanks to Cinna's telephone call help to perfect my outfit. By the time my make-up is applied I really feel on fire. I complete my preparations by sliding the emerald ring onto my finger. A new wave of confidence sweeps through me. I had previously complained of being a marionette in tonight's show, dancing to other people's tunes. No more; now I really am the Girl of Fire.

Cinna places a large cape over my shoulders. No trace of my costume underneath is visible. A deliberate ruse devised by Cinna to foil the paymasters of the saboteur. If they believe I'm wearing Cinna's dress, then it's unlikely they will attempt any other act against me. It also allows me the element of surprise when I finally reveal my costume.

I join Haymitch and Peeta in the lounge. We have about five minutes to spare before we must go down to the lobby for transport to the studio. Haymitch seems to have sobered up considerably but I still have reservations about relying on him.

"Are you wearing those shoes?" asks Haymitch, pointing to the training shoes I've been wearing all afternoon. Apart from the cape, it is the only part of my clothing he can see.

"Only for now," I reply. The beautiful shoes that matched the dress Cinna created are quarantined with the dress.

Haymitch leads Peeta and I to the waiting transport. Cinna and Effie left a few minutes before us. They must make their own way to their seats in the audience. Peeta and I are travelling with the tributes from Districts Ten and Eleven. Caesar Flickerman's show will have already begun, although the interviews aren't due to start for another fifteen minutes. Apparently every tribute must be able to witness their rivals' interviews. A strange concession to fair-play considering the tolerance for dirty tricks being played out in the background.

While I was changing, Effie told Cinna and I about the nature and scale of the underhand tricks that are tolerated by the Gamemakers. The guiding rule is that a tribute must show no sign of physical injury, and be able to stand unaided on his or her podium at the start of the games. Providing that unwritten rule is observed, any amount of doping and intimidation is tolerated, and no investigation will be made into claims of sabotage. Had Sylvie, or the saboteur of my dress, succeeded in their mission, then they would have been secretly congratulated for a masterful stroke. The poor victim is left to rue the failure of their mentor to protect them. I never expected much from Haymitch as a guardian, so in that respect he hasn't let me down. However, I now understand why Sylvie was so confident when making her confession.

We arrive at the studio and we part company with Haymitch, who goes to join Cinna and Effie in the audience. Our group of tributes are escorted to a large room where the other eighteen tributes are assembled. Most are simply standing about nervously. A few are making last minute alterations to their costume. Marvel and Glimmer, who will be the first two tributes to be interviewed, are going through their final preparations under the watchful eye of two of the television studio crew.

On one side of the room is a large screen displaying the show being broadcast from this building. Caesar Flickerman is warming up the audience with recollections from the reaping and the events earlier this week. A brief recap of the training scores each tribute was awarded by the Gamemakers concludes this segment of the show. Glimmer is escorted from the room and a few seconds later the television screen shows her walking onto the stage. The interviews have begun.

I'm busy watching the screen, so I don't notice Cato approaching me until he is virtually on top of me. I give him a look that he correctly reads as 'keep your distance'. I don't know if he was involved in Sylvie's attempt to drug me, but there's no point in taking chances.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck with the interview, princess," says Cato, not put off by my cautious behaviour.

"You too, professor," I reply, deciding to give him the benefit of doubt for now. Unfortunately, a rendezvous with Cato later is now out of the question.

It's the only opportunity I get to say anything to Cato before he is called to his interview. After the interview the tributes are seated on one side of the stage in full view of the audience. I study each tribute's costume as they make their final preparations, focusing mainly on the girls. Most of the girls' outfits are colourful evening dresses. That means they will be competing for the same sponsors; the ones who like to sponsor girls who look sweet and pretty. The success or failure of those girls will therefore depend on each girl's eloquence during her interview. A couple of the older girls are a bit more daring in showing their cleavage. They may impress a different group of sponsors, although I'm sure that group has more than its fair share of perverts.

As for me, I've no idea which sponsors I might attract. None I hope, since I don't trust Haymitch to filter out the bad ones. Will the audience admire my hastily designed costume, or will I be laughed at and mocked? To be honest, I don't care. My real goal tonight is to wrong-foot my powerful rivals. My imaginary warrior princess who is guiding me tells me I'm doing the right thing.


	8. 1-8 A special treat

1-8. A special treat

Peeta and I have nearly two hours to wait before it is our turn on stage. Since none of the tributes in the room are being very talkative, I focus on watching each interview. I adjust my opinion of some of the tributes as they take their turn in the spotlight. The boy from Four is not as dangerous as I first thought; the girl from Five is much cleverer than she revealed during training.

Finally only four of us are left in the waiting room. Rue from District Eleven will be next. She is the youngest tribute this year, but she is agile and clever, so I don't dismiss her chances in the arena. Following her will be Thresh. He is the exact opposite to Rue. He's a fighter and will present a serious challenge to the Careers. I just hope he hasn't agreed an alliance with them.

I wait until Thresh has been called to his interview before removing my cape and making the final adjustments to my costume. I may not be wearing Effie's great-aunt Sophie's costume exactly as she once wore it, but it is close enough for my younger and inexperienced body. Effie said this would be the first time in thirty years that the Jewels of Desire has been worn, and I'm determined to do the costume justice. Thanks to Cinna's tasteful additions, the costume is now suitable to be worn in public. I'm not showing as much bare flesh as the original costume left displayed. While near-nudity isn't frowned on in the Capitol, it most certainly is in the Districts. My costume is decent by District Twelve standards, but only just.

Peeta's exclamation as I reveal my costume confirms that I will certainly attract everyone's attention tonight. What Peeta and the audience won't know is the hidden secret of the Jewels of Desire. The design of the costume has one obvious purpose; sexual desire. The wearer uses her costume to titillate and excite the observer. What isn't immediately apparent is the costume is also designed to arouse the wearer. The strangely shaped piece that fits over my private parts, rubs against me in a very sensual way as I move. Of course I could adjust the piece to prevent it from doing so, but having decided to wear the Jewels of Desire, and I fully intend to do so properly. Besides, it will help me quell my nerves during the interview.

I remove my shoes and take a few practice walks about the room. The initial discomfort is soon replaced by a more pleasant feeling. Within moments I feel every bit the part that I look; an extremely desirable young woman. I don't care if some of the audience think me worse than a whore. This costume transforms me and I like the rebel it makes me.

"… Thank you Thresh and good luck," says Caesar Flickerman as he farewells Thresh from the stage. "And now ladies and gentlemen I've just received word that we are all in for a special treat. The next tribute achieved the highest score of all the tributes during training. A score of eleven. But I'm informed that she is about to surpass that amazing achievement. Let us welcome the female tribute from District Twelve, the Girl of Fire herself, Katniss Everdeen."

As I step out from the wings and onto the stage, the polite applause given to every tribute suddenly erupts into gasps, cheers and thunderous applause. The audience is going wild by the time I reach the seat next to Caesar Flickerman. He is torn between savouring the sight of me and calming the audience. The effect on me is almost as powerful as the emotional trip Cato took me on this afternoon. If it is possible to have an orgasm while sat on a stage, then I think I just had one.

"Well, what a sight for sore eyes you are, Katniss my dear," says Caesar once the audience has calmed enough to make conversation possible. "What an exquisite costume. Your design team have certainly excelled themselves this year."

"I'm glad you like it. The costume isn't entirely original and most pieces have a history. The large two piece set once belonged to a famous dancer, and is known as the Jewels of Desire. The emerald ring is said to have once been the property of a warrior princess."

"Fascinating," says Caesar Flickerman as his eyes roam every part of my body.

In fairness to Caesar, he is very professional and manages to ask his questions despite the delectable eye candy within touching distance of his chair. Of course, being a good showman, he has me conclude my interview by asking me to parade my costume for the audience to admire. I do so with a daring I didn't think I had in me. The rubies on my costume catch the light and sparkle like fire. At the moment I really am a Girl on Fire.

The audience love my demonstration, unaware my movements are stimulating me as well. By the time I'm sat with the other tributes at the side of the stage I'm in a highly charged sexual state. I sit still so as not to tip my already sensitive body into another orgasm. I don't know how many of the audience are watching me rather than Peeta's interview, but I feel as though hundred of eyes are watching my every move. The idea of being watched only excites me even more. I concentrate on Peeta's interview.

Then Peeta drops a bombshell. He claims he has loved me from afar ever since we were in junior school. Despite Haymitch telling me how Peeta feels about me, Peeta's revelation takes me by surprise. Why did he keep his feelings secret from me until now. The cameras and most of the audience suddenly focus on me for a reaction. Fortunately for me, my highly charged state means the expression on my face suggests his feelings are reciprocated and the audience laps it up. To be honest, I don't know how I feel about Peeta. It's difficult to feel affectionate towards someone who rarely talks to you even though they've had plenty of opportunity.

The interviews conclude and after a brief wrap-up by Caesar Flickerman, the show ends. A thoughtful member of the studio crew has my cape and shoes waiting for me as the tributes file off the stage. All the tributes' mentors are waiting to bustle us away before any more foul-play can occur in the confusion. Cato makes a point of coming over to me before he is whisked away to his party.

"Well done, princess," he says. "And I like the costume. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks. You didn't so so bad yourself, professor," I reply, keeping up our private game. "Enjoy your party."

Cinna takes care of me while Haymitch escorts Peeta. There are crowds everywhere and it would be easy to get waylaid. After my performance on stage, I'm just as much at risk from over-enthusiastic admirers as potential saboteurs. But Cinna sees me back to the apartment safely, arriving not long after Haymitch and Peeta. While we were at the studio, Cinna has had my room checked for any other traces of the chemical that was on my dress. It turns out the chemical was a skin irritant that would have left me scratching my way through the interview. After a quick debriefing and congratulations all round, Peeta and I are packed off to our respective rooms for a good night's sleep. Assuming either of us can sleep.

I take one last look in the mirror at myself wearing the Jewels of Desire. They are mine for tonight, and despite my exhaustion I'm reluctant to take them off. Effie will collect them in the morning before Peeta and I are taken to the arena. I put on some light music and I gently dance to the rhythm. On impulse I adjust the pieces of my costume so the pieces play their diabolical but wonderful tricks to my senses. After a while I am contemplating gatecrashing Cato's party, but common sense finally has a firm grip on me.

Having driven myself wild with desire I decide to take a shower to calm myself down. The reality of tomorrow is starting to take hold and my wild sojourn into the previously uncharted territories of my emotions is well and truly over. By the time I've finished my shower, I'm back to my normal self. I lie on my bed and turn on the relaxation programme displaying the emerald forest and soothing commentary.

I listen with particular care for the segment of the commentary which Cato quoted. Sure enough the reference to _mi_ _h_ _ri mah_ , the sun and moon, is made, and I wonder why I used it as my pretend name, Mihrimah, when Cato and I were talking this morning. I pick up the emerald ring lying on my bedside table and slip it onto my finger. Yet again I feel an energy flowing into me. It's a pleasant sort of feeling, filling me with confidence and reassurance about tomorrow. I fall asleep wearing the ring.

I wake early the next morning and I decide to get dressed rather than make a futile attempt at getting another hour's sleep. I take a walk onto the balcony for some fresh air, expecting everyone else to be asleep. To my surprise, Peeta is sat in a chair looking out over the city. The crowds and noise from last night have gone, but the scene far below us still shows some signs of activity. A few all night parties and revellers are still about, mixing with those who must start a new day's work early in the morning.

"Couldn't you sleep?" I ask.

"Not in my room," replies Peeta. "Too closed in. I managed to doze for a while out here."

Peeta looks shattered and hardly in a fit state to enter the arena later this morning. I feel sorry for him.

"How about you?" asks Peeta. "Did you manage to get some sleep?"

"Not at first, but like you I managed to doze for a while," I lie to save his feelings. In reality I slept like a log once I fell asleep.

"I'm sorry if my interview embarrassed you last night," says Peeta. "I meant it as a compliment."

"I know. And I'm sorry if my costume and behaviour embarrassed you," I reply.

"No, you didn't embarrass me. I love your ability to produce surprises like that."

For the first time since we met, Peeta and I actually have a normal boy-girl conversation. By the time Haymitch and Cinna are up and about, Peeta and I have sorted out our friendship. I can enter the arena knowing at least one person isn't going to try and kill me at the first opportunity. If I've achieved the same level of regard from Cato, then my chances of surviving these Games are greatly improved.

All too soon it is time to enter the arena. Cinna is with me as I make my final preparations to enter the arena. He checks my outfit and slips two items into my hand as I prepare to enter the lift which will deposit me on my podium in the arena. One item is the mockingjay pin I wore on my dress at the reaping; the other is Effie's emerald ring.

"Effie wanted you to wear her ring in the arena," says Cinna. "The Gamemakers have given their approval. You can return the ring to her at the end of the Games."

I don't have time to argue. I slip the ring on my finger as the lift ascends. A familiar surge of confidence flows through me. The final countdown to the 74th Hunger Games has begun and I'm ready.

[End of part 1]


	9. 2-1 Countdown

2-1. Countdown 

The floor of the vertical tube lifts me towards the arena. The preparation room must be deep underground as the journey seems to take forever. Perhaps I'm mistaken, and it's just nerves. Eventually the tube glides to a halt. The walls of the tube retract into the ground, leaving me standing on a circular podium slightly above ground level.

One by one the remaining tributes rise from the preparation rooms below the arena. In less than a minute, all twenty four tributes are arranged in a circle around a small building … the Cornucopia … which contains a treasure trove of weapons and supplies. For each tribute it's a fifty metre dash across open ground to the Cornucopia. If the 74th Hunger Games plays out like most of the previous Games, then the trained killers like Cato and the three other Careers will form an alliance and seize the Cornucopia. The Careers' strategy is simple, take control of all the weapons and supplies, and then progressively eliminate everybody else. Only then will the Careers fight among themselves. As for the rest of us, only two sorts of tribute will run into the Cornucopia in the opening seconds of the Games … the brave and the stupid. Of those who do, a few lucky ones may escape with a weapon or supplies, but most will die in a frenzied bloodbath. The sensible tributes get out of the way as soon as the Games start.

Not all the supplies are inside the Cornucopia. Smaller packs and other items are scattered closer to the podiums on which we stand. There's no way of knowing what each pack contains. Some will contain items necessary for survival. Others might be empty … bait to draw an unwitting tribute closer to the Cornucopia and within range of those who make it to the weapons first.

The clock on the Cornucopia shows twenty seconds remaining. I look at the tributes closest to me. None of the nearby tributes appear to be an immediate threat. I can see Peeta four places to my right … about fifty metres from me. He waves in recognition, distracting my train of thought for a moment. Haymitch was very precise in his final instructions to Peeta and I. Forget the weapons and supplies. As soon as the clock reaches zero, run like the wind for cover. In this case, he will mean the trees and bushes about thirty metres behind us. I promised Haymitch that I would follow his advice, but that was before I placed Sophie's ring on my finger. For some unknown reason, wearing the ring makes me bolder. Now I'm feeling confident I can reach one of the packs positioned about fifteen metres from my podium. The risk is minimal … grab the pack and then make a forty five metre run for the trees. Peeta must sense my intentions and frantically signals to me … distracting me again for vital seconds. I recover my concentration and check the clock on the Cornucopia.

Eleven seconds … ten seconds … nine seconds … then nothing. The clock on the Cornucopia goes blank. The arena is plunged into near-darkness. One minute we are in daylight, the next it is like a cloudy night. It's not pitch dark. Some natural daylight must be filtering through the dome of the arena turning the false sky a funny shade of grey. What now? There must have been a power failure. That's the only logical explanation.

Every tribute is thrown into the same indecision. We have been warned that the mines surrounding each podium will remain active until the countdown clock reaches zero. Any tribute who steps off their podium too early will be blown sky high. This is dangerous. If the mines are disabled, then the first tribute to step off their podium may have an unassailable lead in the race for the weapons before anyone else can react. If that person is one of the Careers then they could eliminate many of the tributes before we could all escape. Of course, if the mines are still active, then …

I can't see all the tributes. The Cornucopia blocks my view of the six tributes who are opposite me in the circle. One of those tributes could be running for the Cornucopia and I would be completely unaware of their move. Then my brain begins to think logically. I might not be able to see six of the tributes, but the six I cannot see will be visible to some of the tributes I can see further round the circle. If an unseen tribute was running towards the Cornucopia, then some of the tributes I can see would surely react. And nobody I can see is moving off their podium. Everyone is waiting for someone else to make a move.

"What do we do?" calls the tribute standing to my left.

"The Games haven't started," I shout back. "The clock hasn't reached zero. Stay where you are."

I don't know why I've taken the responsibility for such a decision upon myself. I could blame the strange sense of confidence I sometimes feel while I wear Sophie's emerald ring … but it would be a lie. The power of the ring is dormant for the moment … if such a power exists outside my imagination. But my message takes hold and is relayed around the circle of tributes. Whether everyone agrees with my decision remains to be seen. The three Careers I can see make no move to leave their podiums. That means nothing though. They could simply be waiting for someone else to test whether the mines are still active. Haymitch told me that the Careers strict adherence to military style training means they find it difficult to improvise when faced with the unexpected.

I know from our sessions in the Training Centre that no such mental limitation applies to Thresh from District Eleven. From my location, Thresh's podium is two places further around the circle from where Peeta stands … about seventy metres from where I am. In the gloom I recognise his unmistakeable profile. He too is standing still on his podium.

All of a sudden the false sky of the arena goes brighter. The sky looks like one of those weird striped candy bars that I've seen in the Capitol. It's surreal. The clock has come back to life, but displays a meaningless message, "Err". I look towards Peeta and can see Thresh in the corner of my eye. Thresh removes both his shoes and tosses them onto the ground. Not in front of his own podium … that would be silly. If he did that and the mines are still active, then the shoes would trigger a mine and blow Thresh to pieces. No, the target for Thresh's throw is the area around the podium of the tribute standing between Peeta and Thresh.

Nothing happens, much to the hapless tribute's relief. I'm too far away to see whether Thresh's throw was accurate enough to trigger a mine, but Thresh clearly seems satisfied. Without bothering to retrieve his shoes he leaps from his podium and races for the Cornucopia. He has a ten metre start before anyone else can react. The Careers are the first to follow Thresh into action. A few other tributes follow suit in the precious seconds before anyone reaches the weapons stash. Unfortunately I waste precious time watching what is going on. When I come back to reality, I dash for the pack I identified earlier. My delay in moving means my original assessment of the risk is way off the mark. Not only that, but the boy from District Seven is targeting the same pack as I am, and he will reach it first. I veer onto a different course and race for the next nearest pack.

"Stop!" comes a booming command from the heavens.

It's difficult to know how many of the tributes instantly obey the command. I don't. I continue on my course for the pack I have in my sights. I only halt my headlong charge when a high pitched screeching sound is broadcast throughout the arena. I stop abruptly and clutch my ears, trying to muffle the painful sound.

The awful sound stops a few seconds later. I quickly look towards the Cornucopia for any danger that might come from that direction. In the middle of the Cornucopia I can see several peacekeepers wearing their trademark white uniforms. They seem intent on keeping the half dozen tributes who have made it that far from killing each other. So far they have succeeded in keeping the tributes apart, although I notice Thresh and Cato are both armed with deadly looking weapons.

"Stand still!" orders the voice in the sky. "Drop whatever you are carrying and place your hands on your head."

I'm not certain what the penalty will be for disobeying, but most of us comply with the order without delay. Before long the arena is swarming with uniformed men and women herding the tributes together. The arena's sky starts to flicker as though a bad storm is approaching. Then it goes much darker. The Gamemakers are having a bad day. I can't say I'm sorry.

"What's going on?" asks the red-haired girl from District Five.

"Technical problem," says a woman in a green uniform.

Not that the woman's apparent helpfulness makes us any the wiser. It's clear that the assortment of white, grey, blue, green and red uniformed people around us are equally bemused by our situation. Herding all the tributes together and checking everyone is present seems to be the extent of the instructions our guardians have been given. It's a though everyone is waiting for another heavenly command. One that is a long time in coming. The Gamemakers clearly have no contingency plan for this situation.

"Hello princess. Seems strange that the Gamemakers haven't anticipated the possibility of a power outage," says Cato as he ambles over towards me.

I agree with Cato's assessment. The electrical transmission grid outside the Capitol is notoriously unreliable. Transmission faults cause as many black-outs and brown-outs in the districts as the lack of generating capacity. It's inconceivable that the Gamemakers haven't considered this and provided the arena complex with standby generators.

"Not a power brown-out then, professor?" I reply using his make believe title. "Computer failure perhaps?"

"Not with three independent backup systems," considers Cato, reciting the standard publicity blurb for the Games. "My money is on sabotage."

"Sabotage?! The Hunger Games arena is supposed to be guarded better than a military base. Who would have the resources to attempt such a thing?"

"A good question to which I don't have an answer," muses Cato.

The false sky flickers while we talk. It's like two powerful but unseen gods are battling for control. Light versus dark. Suddenly the sky goes dark again.

"Come on, professor. We're going," I say, grabbing Cato's hand and pulling him towards the trees behind us.

Cato follows my lead even though he has no idea what I'm doing. He doesn't know that the 'helpful' woman in the green uniform is signalling for me to follow her. I'm not certain whether Cato is invited, but I feel it prudent to bring some company. Strangely I don't feel afraid even though the scores of uniformed men and women around us are probably briefed to stop us by whatever means they have at their disposal.

The unexpectedness of our move is our ally. The sudden darkness throws our already confused guardians into chaos. The gloom hides our escape and the grey-uniformed man closest to us doesn't even notice our departure. We make it to the trees just as the sky brightens. This time full daylight is restored and the arena looks like it did before the problem occurred. It takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust. The clock above the Cornucopia now displays "60" although it isn't counting down to zero. There's no sign of the green-uniformed woman but fortunately we are well hidden by the trees.

"System restored," booms the voice in the sky. "Get all the tributes onto a podium. Any podium. All personnel are to vacate the arena within three minutes. The 74th Hunger Games will commence in five minutes."

I can only imagine the flurry of activity the command triggers among the sixty or seventy people spread out across the huge open expanse surrounding the Cornucopia. How long before they notice two tributes are missing?


	10. 2-2 Underground escape

2-2. Underground escape

In their haste to resume the Games, the Gamemakers have made a mistake. In order to evacuate their own personnel quickly they have opened some of the hidden doors that provide access to the service areas below the arena. In their closed position the doors are almost invisible. Now, only ten metres from where Cato and I are hiding, there is a yawning gap that leads out of the arena. Perhaps not to safety, but certainly out of the combat zone and into the massive bowels of the arena complex. Cato and I don't hesitate. We charge towards the open door and the sloping corridor beyond.

"Stop!" comes the order from the green-uniformed woman suddenly blocking our way into the service corridor. "I must remove your tracker first. Over here. Quickly."

The tracker! I had forgotten about the tracker injected into each tribute's arm. There will be no escape for us while the tracker broadcasts our location to the Gamemakers. I go to where the woman is pointing and let her place a small device over my arm. It must be some form of surgical device designed to extract the tracker. More of the Capitol's advanced medical equipment that those of us in the districts can only imagine in our dreams. I feel a slight twinge as the woman does her work. It takes only a few seconds before I can see my tracker lying in a container attached to the device. She removes the device from my arm and I can see the line of a small cut in my arm that has been sealed shut.

"Keep it clean, or it will leave a scar," says the woman grabbing my hand. "Come on. This way."

"What about Cato," I call, resisting the pull of the woman's hand.

"My orders are to take you, and you alone," replies the woman while she looks around for any sign of trouble.

"I'm not going anywhere without Cato," I say.

"I hadn't anticipated you bringing company, Katniss," says the woman, after studying the strange piece of equipment strapped above her left wrist. "It complicates things, but it may work to our advantage."

She quickly repeats the tracker extraction procedure on Cato. She then throws our two trackers into the thicket around us. This time I don't resist the urgent pull of her hand as we run through the nearby entrance and into the arena's underground service area.

I've no idea what Cato and I think we are doing, where we are going, or what we are going to do when we get there. Situation normal, then. No … I'm joking. The exhilaration of the last few minutes has made me feel daring. This is anything but a normal situation. None of our training has prepared us for this. I hope the woman helping us has a plan of escape. Without her, Cato and I can only aimlessly run and hide. As the reality of our situation sinks into my brain, I begin to wonder whether my impulsive dash for freedom is nothing more than a short-cut to death. The woman leads us down the sloping corridor towards a larger well-lit area below.

By now the Gamemakers must have noticed our absence. If we are lucky, they will assume we are still somewhere inside the arena itself. Our discarded trackers may fool them into thinking that for a while. The huge unknown is whether our escape down here has been detected. I can imagine the Gamemakers' technicians frantically scanning the data from dozens of cameras surrounding the Cornucopia for any sign of us. Another group will undoubtedly be reviewing the camera recordings taken over the last ten minutes for clues about our disappearance. We can only hope the power failure has prevented a detailed log of our activities.

"We must wait in here for a while," says the woman, leading us to a nondescript room containing tables and chairs.

She closes the door behind the three of us. Moments later there's the sound of running feet along the corridor. Have we been seen? Fortunately not. The noise we can hear must be the uniformed people leaving the arena as ordered. The sounds last for a few minutes before stopping just as quickly as they had started.

"Who are you? What is going on?" I demand.

"You can call me, Hope. My task is to escort you to your destination."

"And where is our destination?" asks Cato.

"Yours will be back into the arena if I decide that your presence is jeopardising my mission. For now, you can follow us. Come on, we have a schedule to keep if you want to get out of here alive. It won't be long before the Gamemakers realise that the two of you aren't hiding near the Cornucopia."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell us where you are taking Katniss and I," says Cato.

"Fine. You can stay here then," says Hope indifferently. She grabs me by my arm and hauls me out of the door. She's a lot stronger than she looks. Cato swallows his pride and follows a few paces behind us.

Hope relaxes her grip on my arm once she is satisfied that I'm following her lead. She doesn't give Cato a second look. She truly doesn't care whether he comes with us or not. She takes us away from the brightly-lit area. We walk in silence as we navigate a maze of dimly lit corridors. Hope turns into a narrow unlined tunnel which branches off from the metal-walled corridor. This tunnel could be part of a natural cave. No attempt has been made to do more than string a line of lights along one side of the rock wall. There's just enough light to see where we are going. As we move forward Hope periodically examines the device strapped to her wrist. I don't know why. As far as I can tell there are no side-tunnels and we must either go back or continue onwards. Cato and I have no alternative but to trust in Hope's plan of escape.

The tunnel starts to twist and turn. Before long I can hear running water ahead of us. It sounds like a river flowing over rocks rather than anything man-made. Hope brings us to a halt near a small pile of rubble.

"Take your clothes off and put these on," says Hope, handing me a green top and trousers like hers. "You'll have to take your chances, Marvel. I suggest you remove your tribute's jacket though."

"Cato," replies Cato. "My name is Cato."

"Whatever," says Hope not bothering to hide her disinterest in Cato's identity. "If Security stop us then you're on your own. Remember my mission is to get Katniss to her destination … you're just along for the ride. Get in my way and that ride will end abruptly."

"No," I snap. "I chose to bring Cato with me. I'll not abandon him while we are in danger."

"You're not in a position to make demands," replies Hope. "Your sponsor has gone to a lot of trouble to retrieve you from the arena. The kind of money your sponsor has expended means you are well and truly bought. I suggest you get used to it."

I shudder when I comprehend what Hope has just said. When I wore the Jewels of Desire at last night's television interview, I knew there was a risk of attracting the wrong kind of sponsor. It looks as though I've gained the worst possible kind … rich, powerful and demanding. This is turning into a nightmare.

"And what does my sponsor intend to do when you deliver me safe and sound?" I ask.

"Pay me a lot of money. My services don't come cheap … but I'm worth every cent of my fee."

"I'm sure. But what happens to me? And to Cato?"

"Not my concern. I'm just paid to deliver you."

"And what happens if I don't cooperate in your mission to enslave me?"

"It's in your best interests to cooperate. Think about it. You're stuck inside a heavily guarded facility with scores of people looking for you. What do you imagine the Gamemakers are going to do if and when they catch you? They'll want answers about how somebody managed to sabotage the start of the Hunger Games. By escaping you have made yourself a prime suspect. I wouldn't be surprised if your mentor and support team are already under arrest and are being interrogated. What's-his-name's team as well. The Gamemakers will want quick answers, and many people are going to suffer in the process. Pray that one of them isn't you."

"Are you saying that my sponsor is responsible for the sabotage?" I ask. "Just to get me out of the arena?"

"The less you know the better," replies Hope.

Better for who? Not me. Not Cato. Not my family. In fact, not anybody I know. I think I've made a terrible mistake in leaving the arena. It would have been better to die honourably in the arena than drag everyone who knows me into this mess. I don't want to die, but I won't shirk my responsibilities to my friends and family.

"Sorry to have dragged you into this," I say to Cato when Hope is preoccupied with the device on her wrist.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world, princess," replies Cato. "But our rescuer leaves a lot to be desired. I think we should part company with her as soon as we get the chance."

"I agree," I whisper in reply. "But we might have difficulty breaking free."

Our conversation is halted when Hope indicates that she is ready to resume our journey. She hides Cato's jacket and the clothes I was wearing. Fortunately I remembered to remove my mockingjay pin from my jacket and pin it to the underside of my top. Sophie's ring has never left my finger. The snug fitting uniform is comfortable, but its thin material won't provide much protection from the cold. Instead of sturdy boots, I'm now wearing what appear to be light elasticated slippers. It's not the sort of attire for running around underground tunnels, but Hope seems to manage okay.

We continue along the tunnel for a short distance until it opens out into a cavern with an underground river flowing through it. The electric lighting ends here. Fortunately Hope is prepared and she produces two lanterns from a pack which was hidden with my uniform. Hope keeps one lantern for herself and hands the other to me. I begin to think that she intends for us to wade along the river, but she makes no move to enter the water. We follow the riverbank through the narrowing cavern until we reach the point where the river occupies the entire width of the cavern. Although the flow isn't particularly fast, the river seems deep enough to make wading difficult.

"Wait here," says Hope as she steps onto a narrow ledge beside the river.

Hope disappears into the tunnel formed by the river. She returns a minute of so later hauling a rope. On the other end of the rope is a small inflatable dinghy. On her command, the three of us climb aboard. The dinghy is very cramped with three of us on board and it rides low in the water. However, Hope doesn't seem concerned, so I calm my mounting fear that we'll sink.

"Make yourself useful," says Hope handing Cato one of the two wooden paddles.

We set off downstream allowing the current to take us. The light from the lanterns isn't strong enough to let us see very far. Hope and Cato use the paddles to keep us from going too fast and to steer the dinghy. I peer ahead into the gloom to give advance warning of any rocks in our way. It's a task easier said than done. Even at our leisurely pace we have little time to avoid obstacles and, of course, I can't see rocks just below the surface. More than once we collide with a hidden rock and the dinghy protests loudly. Fortunately it is well made and the fabric doesn't tear.


	11. 2-3 Change of plan

2-3. Change of plan

I lose track of time and begin to wonder whether we will ever leave these caverns. I'm soaked and feeling quite cold. Gradually, over the noise of the flowing river I can hear the sound of machinery. The noise is getting louder.

"Can you hear that?" I call to Hope. "It sounds like machinery."

"Yes. It's the water intake pumps for the arena. Get ready to row for the left bank. If we miss our landing it will be a hard paddle back upstream."

"Wouldn't it be better to land somewhere further along?" asks Cato.

"The pumping station is where we land," insists Hope, not willing to entertain any change of plan. "Unless, of course, you want to take your chances going over a waterfall."

We turn a bend in the river and there before us is the pumping station. A shaft of daylight in the cavern makes the lanterns unnecessary. I help Hope and Cato steer the dinghy to the bank just short of the first sluice gate. We scramble onto the narrow bank and Hope pushes the dinghy back into the river. The current quickly takes the dinghy. There's no way back for us.

About twenty metres above us I can see daylight. The roof of the cavern has been opened out to allow the four huge pipes from the pumps to take water into the arena. Next to the pipes there is an access ladder which zigzags its way upwards. Hope doesn't waste any time in starting to climb. With nowhere else to go, Cato and I follow behind her. But surely Hope isn't taking us back into the arena?

I'm so busy concentrating on our progress towards the daylight that I don't at first notice a platform and corridor about five metres below the surface. Hope steps onto the platform and waits for Cato and I to reach her. When I step onto the platform I realise my uniform and shoes are bone dry … except around my still wet underwear. This uniform is made of some amazing material.

"Decision time, muscle-boy," she says to Cato. "I recommend that you continue upwards and re-enter the arena. I don't know what the Gamemakers will do when they realise you have returned, but this is your last chance to go back. Stay with us and you'll probably become a fugitive for the rest of your life."

"What about me?" I ask before Cato can answer. "Don't I get a choice?"

"No," replies Hope. "Your sponsor has made arrangements for you. You should be safe enough once I deliver you."

"I'm not leaving Katniss," says Cato without hesitation. "I'm going where she's going."

"Very touching," sighs Hope. "Very well. Don't say I didn't give you a chance. Come on."

"Thank you, professor," I whisper to Cato as Hope strides off along the narrow passage leading away from the platform.

"I'll claim my reward later, princess," smiles Cato with wink.

We follow Hope along the narrow passage until it joins a much larger corridor. Hope stops just short of the corridor and listens for the sound of any movement ahead.

"This is one of the main service corridors," says Hope. "If anyone stops us, let me deal with them. Keep calm and everything will be okay."

After the poorly lit passage, the lights in this corridor hurt my eyes. Cato clothes are still wet and he briefly stops to wring out his clothes before entering the corridor. Cato and I walk slightly behind Hope as she leads us along the corridor. After a short distance the corridor opens out into a circular chamber about twenty five metres across with doors every few metres around the circumference. There are a few grey-uniformed workers in the chamber but they don't pay any attention to us. In the middle of the chamber is a small security checkpoint. Next to the checkpoint is what appears to be a rank of small open-sided vehicles. Hope leads us towards the front vehicle and indicates we should climb aboard. Cato sits on a narrow bench at the back while I take one of the two front seats.

"Hold it, caterpillars. Where are you going with that buggy?" asks a man wearing a white-uniform with a holstered weapon on his belt. He must be a security guard. I presume the green uniforms Hope and I are wearing earn us the nickname 'caterpillars'.

"Section Two," replies Hope.

"Let's see your authorisation," says the man. "There's a security lock-down. Two of the tributes are missing. Nobody leaves their assigned area without authorisation. Which is your assigned area, anyway? There are no caterpillars stationed in this area."

"Which is why we were sent here in the first place," says Hope trying to sound bored. "There was a chemical leak in one of the corridors. Faulty pipework. Now we need to get back to Section Two quickly in case there is a similar problem elsewhere. We were sent here before the security lock-down."

"What about him? Where's his uniform?" persists the man.

"Chemical contamination," replies Hope. "We had to destroy it."

"Hmmm …" says the man, uncertain what to do next. "What's the name of your supervisor? I'll have to check with your supervisor before I can let you take a buggy."

"Call this number," says Hope handing the man a card from her pocket.

"Wait here," replies the man as he returns to the small booth, which must be his station.

We don't wait. As soon as the man's back is turned, Hope leaps into the seat next to me. She moves one of the two levers on the panel in front of us and the buggy jolts into life. Cato is nearly thrown backwards out of the vehicle. The buggy has no steering wheel and seems have a top speed slightly faster than I can run. The silver coloured strips in the corridor floor seem to provide the guidance system.

We are almost out of the chamber before the security guard realises we have left. He briefly gives chase before deciding to sound the alarm and warn the neighbouring security stations. The delay in sounding the alarm gives us a few vital seconds, although I'm not certain what good it will do us. I look at Hope to try and gauge her reaction to what has just occurred. Her face gives nothing away.

"There's one of these contraptions following us," calls Cato from the rear seat of our buggy.

Hope takes a quick look behind us and lets out a quiet curse. It's the first indication she's given that her plan of escape is coming unstuck. The corridor we are following runs in a straight line. Every now and then there are tunnels branching off, but I've no idea where they go. In fact, I don't even know where this corridor is leading us. Hope is busy fiddling with the device on her wrist as though it may tell her a way out of our situation. Perhaps it will.

"Change of plan," says Hope suddenly. "Bale out at the next junction and run along the side corridor. About twenty metres on the right you'll find a door. Go through the door and climb the vertical ladder that goes to the surface. It'll mean you are inside the arena, but you should be far enough from the main area of activity to be safe. I'll come for you when I can."

"What are you going to do?" I ask on the off-chance that she'll tell me. She simply looks at me in disdain. I'm merely a package to be delivered in her eyes. At least it will mean Cato and I are free of our so-called rescuer for a while.

"Go … go!" calls Hope when we reach the junction she mentioned. Cato and I do as she says and run as fast as we can for the door. I look back when we reach the door but there is no sign of Hope or our pursuers. Cato quickly opens the door and in his haste nearly collides with the ladder in front of him. We are in a room no bigger than a cupboard.

Hope's instructions were for us to climb to the surface. I can see daylight about fifteen metres above us. Behind the ladder, however, is a platform with another ladder which goes down. Of course we have no idea what is below us.

"Up or down?" asks Cato, who is obviously thinking along the same lines as me. Hope is expecting to find us in the arena above, but that would simply place us back in her dubious care. And there is another possibility if we enter the arena. What if the Gamemakers' cameras detect us before Hope comes to retrieve us? If she comes at all.

"Down," I reply.

Cato doesn't argue and promptly climbs down the ladder. Fortunately the shaft is lit. At the bottom of the shaft is another door. We can't hear anything from the other side of the door, so hopefully the coast is clear. I carefully turn the door handle with the intention of opening the door a little way to see if it is safe to continue. Unfortunately the door has some form of automatic opener and my action causes the door to swing wide open with a clang. So much for stealth.

The door is at the end of a short corridor. I can't see what is at the other end of the corridor from where I stand. Going back is a poor alternative, so I step out and walk to the far end of the corridor. Cato follows behind me. When I get there, I look around in disbelief. We're in the main control room. There must be about forty people sat in a circle in front of us. Each is busy working at a console. The walls are almost entirely covered with screens showing different parts of the arena above. Some of the screens show one or other of the tributes. I can see Rue from District Eleven and the red-haired girl from Five. In the centre of the room is a large holographic map of the arena. On a raised platform to our right stand a small group of men and women who must be the Gamemakers themselves.

Despite the noise of our entrance, everyone seems too busy doing with whatever they are doing to bother with us. I look around for the security guards who must surely have noticed our arrival. But there are no signs of any security guards in this room. Perhaps the Gamemakers have an overconfidence in their perimeter security and keep their guards out of this room.

Cato takes my hand and indicates we had best go back into the shaft. Unfortunately the door has swung shut behind us and we have no means of opening it from this side without breaking a glass panel clearly labelled "alarmed". The signs indicate this is an emergency exit from the control room.

I've run out of ideas. We are cornered in the heart of the Gamemakers' domain. Even my green uniform seems out of place. Everyone in the control room is wearing a blue uniform. Only the Gamemakers seem exempt from wearing a coloured uniform of some sort. Cato is luckier. At a distance his shirt might be mistaken for a blue uniform.

"Your move, princess," says Cato, clearly devoid of ideas himself. "I'm along for the ride, remember. Hope said so."

"You can pull your weight on this venture, Cato," I reply. "I didn't bring you along just so you can flex your muscles and look good."

"You think I look good when I flex my muscles, then?" replies Cato. "This is a discussion we must continue when we have the time."

"Oh, shut up!" I snap, annoyed that I said what I did. I blurted out my private thoughts without putting my brain into gear.

"Did anyone ever tell you how attractive you look when you're angry with yourself?" whispers Cato into my ear.


	12. 2-4 Odd things

2-4. Odd things 

"Which part of 'shut' and 'up' don't you understand, Cato," I reply, getting really annoyed … more with myself than with Cato. Cato knows he has me riled and compounds my discomfort by kissing my ear.

"Attractive and sexy," he whispers. "You must be really peeved."

I give Cato a filthy look but my anger melts when I have a flash of inspiration. I grab Cato's arm and step out of the corridor and onto the walkway around the circumference of the circular control room. We are in full view of everyone in the control room. I'm guessing that everyone is so busy watching the screens on the walls above our heads that they won't notice us. I walk arm-in-arm with Cato into a room located further round the walkway.

"I knew you would think of something if you were given the right incentive," chortles Cato. His smugness dies the moment we enter the room. "What the …"

The room is furnished like a meeting room. There's a large table in the middle with a dozen chairs neatly arranged around it. What takes Cato by surprise is that the room is already occupied by a woman in a blue uniform and four grey-uniformed men.

"We mean you no harm," I say to the woman. "However, you had better leave this room now."

The woman simply looks at me and promptly does as I suggest. Cato just looks on in astonishment. The four grey-uniformed men simply sit there as though they are waiting for something to happen.

"She'll tell everyone we are here," whispers Cato into my ear. "And what's wrong with these guys. They're behaving as though they are asleep."

"In a way, they are asleep," I reply. "And everyone in the control room already knows we are in here. This is all a set-up."

"I hope you are going to explain what you mean," says Cato looking around for any signs of trouble.

"All this is part of the arena. There was no sabotage at the start of the Games. It was all an elaborate hoax to provide a novel start to the 74th Hunger Games. I bet we aren't the only tributes to have been led below the surface. We are probably being watched on television at this very moment. We are still in the arena … we never left it."

"But what about Hope? She removed our trackers. She helped us get away."

"Hope's role was to guide us away from the Cornucopia and trick us into thinking we have escaped. The whole episode with the security guard and our ride in the buggy was part of the performance."

"Hah! But we fooled them!" laughs Cato. "We climbed down into the control room and not up to the surface. We could do significant damage to the control room before they could stop us. What a joke!"

"Unfortunately if we did that the joke would be on us," I reply. "The control room out there is a fake. The blue uniformed people are mutts … as are these four men. There must be different types of mutt programmed for different tasks. Each type can be recognised by the colour of their uniform."

"I'm not convinced," replies Cato. "Hope looked real enough … as did that security guard who tried to stop us."

"I don't know how clever the Gamemakers can make their mutts. I think you're right … Hope was a real person … possibly one of the Gamemakers' assistants. I don't know about the security guard. But I'm sure the blue and grey uniformed people in this area are mutts."

"What's the point of creating so many mutts?"

"To provide entertainment for the audience and to fool us into believing we are being hunted as we escape from the arena. At some point we will run into one or more of the other tributes in a situation where we must either form an alliance, or fight each other."

"Hmmm … It sounds plausible. Extraordinary, but plausible. But how can you be so certain?"

"I can't be certain, but it's the only explanation I can think of for the odd things that have happened to us."

"What do you mean, 'odd'? Everything that's happened in the last hour can be described as 'odd'. It's nothing like what I expected."

"I mean that not everything that has happened to us makes sense. Hope implied my sponsor was responsible for the sabotage, but I had no sponsors prior to last night. The whole sabotage event couldn't have been organised so quickly. It would take days, if not weeks, of preparation."

"Perhaps your sponsor wasn't responsible for the sabotage," muses Cato. "It could be a coincidence."

"Then why did Hope find it necessary to lie to us. Besides, there are other things which don't stack up. Our escape from the Cornucopia was too easy. We ran nearly thirty metres in full view of everybody, and none of the uniformed people noticed us even though they were supposed to be guarding us. Then, when Hope took the buggy, the security guard failed to take a good look at us despite the fact he is supposedly watching out for two people fitting our description. And finally, the lack of interest everyone has in our presence in this control room. None of it makes sense … unless it's a trick."

"But what about the trackers? Hope definitely removed mine."

"And mine. I don't know. Perhaps the trackers don't work underground in any case. Perhaps it was a ruse to convince us that we were escaping."

"So what are we going to do now?" asks Cato.

"Why do you ask me?" I reply. "Didn't we have a conversation on this subject only a few minutes ago?"

"A conversation we didn't complete. If I recall, you said I was handsome and you wanted a repeat of yesterday afternoon's private games."

"Liar! I did not say that!" I retort.

"Perhaps not in so many words, but it's what you meant. I'm happy to oblige if you want to make out."

"You'll have to wait for a more convenient time. If I'm right, then the Gamemakers will do something in the next few minutes now that they know we have discovered their trick."

Cato goes to stand by the door to this room in case the blue-uniformed mutts cause us any trouble. Meanwhile I keep an eye on the four grey-uniformed mutts who are currently sat motionless around one end of the table.

"The control room is empty!" calls Cato when he risks a look at what is happening outside this room.

I go to the door to see for myself. Cato is right. Not only have the blue-uniformed mutts disappeared, but all the consoles and screens have vanished as well. The control room must have been nothing more than an elaborate illusion. Now we are looking at the inside of a huge empty cylinder. We don't need to wait long for the Gamemakers to play their next move. In the wall high above us is a large pipe which opens out into the cylinder. I hear the rush of water before it reaches the opening. Seconds later water is gushing out of the pipe. I look down over the railing and see that the water is gathering below us.

"They're flooding the chamber," says Cato. "We had best leave while we can."

I wholeheartedly agree with Cato's advice. Unfortunately the four grey-uniformed mutts have other ideas. They have suddenly burst into life and seem intent on preventing our escape. We have a few seconds start on them as we bolt out of the room and back towards the door to the upper levels. The grey-uniformed men give chase and match our speed. It will be touch and go whether we can get the door open and up the ladder before the men reach us.

Cato and I race down the short corridor to the door. Despite the warning sign, I immediately break the glass panel next to the door and turn the lever. To my dismay, the door remains firmly shut. I fiddle with the lever in the precious seconds before the men catch us. Nothing. We are out of time … there will be no escape by this route.

"We need to find another way out," I call to Cato, who has already turned to face the four oncoming mutts.

"First things first," replies Cato. "We must deal with these mutts before we can look for an exit."

The narrow corridor makes it difficult for all four mutts to attack us at the same time. Cato and I stand side by side to prevent any of them from getting behind us. We may be outnumbered, but I still feel confident we can overcome them. Cato is now in his element. He's facing a problem he has been trained to solve. Cato lands a solid punch on the face of the mutt in front of him. The mutt staggers backwards but doesn't fall. His place is taken by the mutt behind him. Before long we realise the mutts are not going to assault us and are content to prevent us from leaving. Unfortunately, with the water rising inside the cylinder, we can't waste too much time here.

I charge into the mutt facing me. He's taller than I am but the speed of my attack forces him to step backwards. Cato copies my actions and pushes his mutt into the dazed mutt who hasn't recovered from Cato's blow. Both mutts go down in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Come on!" cries Cato, spotting an opening for us to get through.

Cato grabs my hand and helps me clamber over the fallen mutts. The other two mutts are slow to react to our move. We run clear of the mutts. As Cato and I turn the corner of the corridor, I take a quick look back. The two fallen mutts are now standing but all four seem uncertain what to do next. It's as though they are waiting for instructions. Cato pulls me onwards. We don't see those mutts again.

Cato and I have fresh problems of our own. The rising water is almost to the level of the walkway we are on. We dash to where we saw the fake Gamemakers earlier in the hope that there is an exit nearby. The water is sloshing against my feet by the time we reach the Gamemakers' platform. The spray from the falling water is soaking our clothes and I'm starting to feel chilled.

We're in luck. At the back of the platform is a ladder attached to the wall. The ladder goes up to the roof of the cylinder which is about ten metres above us. There seems to be a hatch in the roof which hopefully isn't locked. Cato climbs up first and I follow a short distance behind him.

The water spray is making the narrow rungs of the ladder quite slippery. My thin shoes keep sliding on the rungs. In normal circumstances it would be an easy climb, but the spray is making it slow going. The rising water has already reached the foot of the ladder, so we have no option but to continue upwards. Our climb is hindered when Cato discovers that some of the rungs are broken. Our rate of climb slows to a snail's pace as Cato checks each rung is strong enough to bear our weight. By now we are both thoroughly soaked by the spray from the falling water. My teeth are starting to chatter.

Finally Cato reaches the roof of the cylinder. He turns the wheel on the hatch door and pushes it up into whatever lies beyond. We climb through the hatch and take in our new surroundings. It's a dimly lit corridor which runs left and right.

"Best shut the hatch," says Cato. "We don't want the water flooding this corridor."

I move so that we can close the hatch door. Cato swings it shut and turns the wheel on this side to seal it shut. The sound of the rushing water reduces to a faint background noise.

"Which way?" asks Cato, seemingly having exhausted his ability to make decisions for one morning.

"This way," I reply, trying to sound confident in my choice even though it's a random decision.


	13. 2-5 Separate ways

2-5. Separate ways

We follow the corridor for about a minute before coming across another ladder going up. We could keep to the corridor, but my instincts tell me to go up. It's another case of the imaginary influence Sophie's ring has on my thinking. Cato doesn't object and we start to climb. This time I go first. If this ladder is broken, I'd rather fall onto Cato than the other way round.

There's another hatch at the top of the ladder, which I open with some difficulty. My hands are still cold from the effects of the water. Daylight bursts into the shaft as soon as I open the hatch. We have reached the surface. The warmth of the sun … even though it's a fake sun … feels pleasant on my skin. I help Cato through the narrow hatch and we both lie on the grass in the pretty glade in which we find ourselves.

"Let's not do that again any time soon," I sigh.

"I agree," replies Cato. "Do you think we are out of trouble yet."

"We're in the Hunger Games arena," I reply. "Of course we aren't out of trouble."

Cato and I rest for a few minutes in order to regain our breath. Compared to the tunnels below us, the air feels nice and warm in this glade. My green uniform soon dries but my underwear remains uncomfortably wet. If we had more time we could strip off our wet clothes and let them dry on the bushes nearby. I'm sure Cato wouldn't mind us doing that … OK, I'm not opposed to the idea either … but we don't know how safe we are in this glade. Having forced us to the surface, the Gamemakers may give us a break from their mischief, but we can't be sure. Also, there are twenty two other tributes in this arena, any one of whom might attack us if we are unprepared.

"We should find the Cornucopia," says Cato. "We need weapons and supplies."

I can understand why Cato wants to find the Cornucopia. Cato's training for the Hunger Games in centred around seizing control of the weapons and supplies. Cato will be in his element once he has a weapon … preferably a large one … in his hand. And he hasn't been trained to hunt or harvest food in the arena. He expects his meals to come from a packet or a tin. It's his one major weakness in the arena.

Unfortunately his suggestion probably means he has given up on any thought of escape from the arena. While we have been tricked into making a doomed escape attempt, I haven't given up the idea of trying again. The 74th Hunger Games aren't two hours old yet, and there is plenty of time to come up with another plan of escape. Providing we can stay alive. If Cato intends to battle with the other tributes, then at some point he and I must turn against each other. For all I know, the only reason Cato hasn't tried to kill me so far is because of the half-promise I made to make out.

"We don't need weapons to escape," I reply. "The mutts may try to delay us or confuse us, but I don't think they will physically harm us."

"You don't know that," replies Cato. "Besides, the other tributes won't hesitate to kill us if they get the chance. I'm going to find the Cornucopia. You are welcome to come along, but I'm taking your advice and making a decision. I don't regret what has just happened … some parts were even enjoyable … but we were tricked and we failed."

"So you want to part company and go our separate ways?" I say, trying to avoid sounding like I'm his girlfriend who he's about to dump.

"I'm going to the Cornucopia. I would prefer it if you came with me. But I'm not going to force you."

This is the Cato I saw during training. Confident and in control. Haymitch was right in his assessment of the Careers. When they are in familiar territory they are almost unstoppable. Throw the unexpected at them and they become beatable. I weigh up my options before answering.

"I'll help you find the Cornucopia," I reply. "But if the other Careers are there, then I'm not going to enter it. You can make a choice then whether to join your allies, or to continue on with me."

That strange feeling I sometimes get while I wear Sophie's ring tells me my decision is the right one. It gives me a chance to examine more of the arena while enjoying Cato's company and protection for a while longer. Of course we might not find the Cornucopia, or it might be deserted if we do find it. Somehow I don't think either of those situations will apply. I suspect this arena is quite small on the surface, with much of the combat zone in the corridors and tunnels below ground. Finding the Cornucopia should be relatively easy.

Cato is impatient to set off, so I abandon any thought of drying my underclothes and put up with the minor discomfort of wet underwear. The arena is getting warmer and I no longer feel cold. We leave the clearing and follow the valley which is formed by the cliffs either side of us. At this point the valley is about a hundred metres across, but I can see it opening wider in the direction we are travelling. The clearing around the Cornucopia is about 150 metres across, so we are likely to be heading in the right direction.

After a while I hear the sound of running water as though a river is running over rapids or a waterfall. Cato halts his headlong charge to allow me to make a side-trip to investigate the noise. He decides against scrambling through the dense undergrowth and waits for me in a small clearing. As I expected, there is a river flowing along the valley floor. I turn upstream and hunt through the trees to find the source of the noise. My intuition is right. Partly hidden by bushes, I can see the top of the four huge pipes we found earlier. I make a difficult scramble across rough terrain to where the pipes come out of the ground. As I expected I find the ladder and shaft we climbed up with Hope.

I take the opportunity to remove my wet underwear and wring it out. I shove the damp items into my pocket and return to where Cato is waiting. He too has decided to ring out some of the remaining water from his shirt and trousers. He's left his shirt off, which does funny things to my insides when I see his naked chest. I wish I didn't find him so attractive. A relationship with Cato is the last thing I need at the moment.

"Did you find anything interesting, princess?" Cato asks when he sees me return.

"Hmmm …" is all I can manage as I take in the sight before me.

Cato must sense the effect he is having on me. An effect compounded by the fact that I'm no longer wearing any underwear. To be honest, if he suggested that we go into the bushes and make out, I would be hard pressed to refuse. I'm not certain I would want to refuse. He comes over to where I'm standing, walks behind me and kisses my neck. I simply stand and let him. Not a wise choice for a tribute standing in the middle of a Hunger Games arena. He could break my neck before I knew what was happening.

"Other than me, have you found anything interesting, princess?" repeats Cato.

"Hmmm … Er … Yes. I found the water inlet pipes. The ones leading from that underground river. The top of the ladder is well hidden, but we could use it to return to the lower levels."

"I've no intention of going down there again," says Cato. "The Hunger Games are won by controlling the Cornucopia."

"Except when the supplies at the Cornucopia are destroyed," I reply, recalling several previous Games where that occurred. Those were the years in which all the Careers were eliminated well before the end of the contest. "Besides, we can't escape from the arena by defending the Cornucopia," I add.

"Do you seriously believe escape is possible?" replies Cato.

"Yes," I reply. Yet again the sensation I attribute to the influence of Sophie's ring makes me sure that I'm right.

"How? And don't forget the Gamemakers' cameras are everywhere. You have probably just announced your intention to escape to all of Panem. The Gamemakers will be watching you even more closely from now on."

"I don't know how, but I'm not going to give up trying," I reply. "Come on. We had best find the Cornucopia before you starve to death. It must be nearly three hours since you had breakfast."

"Yeah, okay," says Cato with a slight hint of regret that I haven't succumbed to his blatant attempt to seduce me. His busy hands have been playing intimate and devilish tricks on my body while we have been talking. It didn't take him long to realise that I've removed my underwear and he has taken full advantage of it. I would like nothing more than to respond in kind. Unfortunately, I know that if I do then I'll never be able to part from him at the Cornucopia. The more we talk, the more I realise that we must soon go our separate ways.

Cato realises his efforts are in vain and he puts his shirt back on. In less than a minute we are on our way again. We follow the valley floor for about half a kilometre. The cliffs forming the sides of the valley are much further apart here and I sense we must be getting close to the Cornucopia. This is the point where having Cato with me is a disadvantage. Alone I could approach the Cornucopia stealthily, giving me the option of retreating unseen if I don't like what I find. Cato doesn't even attempt to move quietly and anybody within fifty metres of us must be able to hear him.

I gradually allow the distance between Cato and I to lengthen until I'm following about fifteen metres behind him. I keep a careful watch on the trees and bushes to either side of us. Suddenly a movement catches my eye in the bushes to our right. Then I see another suspicious movement not far from Cato's left.

"Ambush!" I call to Cato as I dive into the bushes to my right.

Cato barely has time to react before four shapes burst out of the bushes and charge towards Cato. To Cato's credit he is quick to react. The sapling he has been carrying as a makeshift weapon catches the leading shape in the midriff. I'm about to rush forward and assist him when I realise the assailants are the other three Careers together with the male tribute from District Three. I change my position so I can watch what happens before committing myself to action. As soon as Cato and his assailants recognise each other they put up their weapons.

"Cato! Where the deuce have you been?" cries the girl I recognise as Clove. "We thought you got lost in the confusion at the start of the Games. Who's the girl with you?"

The five of them turn to where I was last seen. Only I'm no longer there. I've moved about twenty metres from my original position and I'm well hidden. My green uniform blends perfectly with the surrounding foliage.

"I was lost but I found my way back," says Cato. "There's a whole warren of tunnels below the arena."

"Yeah, we know," replies Marvel. "Several tributes have taken refuge in them. There are caves and holes all over the place. We thought they must lead somewhere but we haven't had time to investigate them."

"So what happened at the start?" asks Cato. "I fell into one of the holes early on so didn't see what transpired."


	14. 2-6 A glimpse of Peeta

2-6. A glimpse of Peeta

"The start of the Hunger Games was in total confusion," says Clove. "Some of the tributes were missing … you among them. We easily took the Cornucopia. Only five other tributes attempted to come close. Three are dead. Two escaped … the guy from Eleven and one of the dark-haired girls … the one from Twelve I think. You know … the slut who wore that tart's fancy costume to the interview last night. I saw her again about fifteen minutes ago. I think my knife may have wounded her as she ran off."

"Only three down then?" asks Cato, ignoring the obvious misidentification and insult aimed at me.

"Yeah," says Marvel. "Lowest ever body count at the start of the Games. We're going to have our work cut out to eliminate the surviving tributes before the food runs out."

"Who's guarding the Cornucopia then?" asks Cato.

"We've stacked the supplies and rigged the mines to blow up anybody who attempts to steal from it," says the boy from Three, obviously the person who thought of the idea and proud of it.

"Good. Now show me the way to the Cornucopia. I need a better weapon than this sapling."

"What about the girl who was with you?" asks Glimmer.

"Forget her. She was trailing me in the hope I would lead her to food or something. I tried to catch her but she's too agile to let me get near her."

"Okay. But we'll deal with her as soon as you're ready."

Cato and his allies head off towards the Cornucopia. I silently thank Cato for keeping both my identity and location secret. He has made his choice and now I'm on my own. I feel a twinge of regret that he hasn't chosen to stay with me, but I sense my chances of escape are better on my own. I retreat into the bushes and make my way back up the valley.

I've not gone far when I see movement in the bushes ahead. I sneak closer to see who or what it is. As I approach I can make out a figure sitting in the mouth of what could be a cave.

"Peeta!"

The loud voice comes from inside the cave. A girl's voice. One I don't recognise. I lie quietly watching from the bushes about ten metres from where Peeta is sitting.

"Sshhh!" replies Peeta in a hushed voice. "There could be someone nearby. It seems strange we haven't seen more tributes before now. The arena is quite narrow."

"Sorry!" comes the reply in a slightly quieter voice. "There's a passage at the back of this cave. I can see lights further on."

"What?! Let me see," says Peeta going into the cave.

I wait a short while in case Peeta returns. He doesn't, so I make a quick check of my surroundings before breaking cover to follow them. I'm glad I was cautious. It seems I'm not the only person watching Peeta. A figure moves from the trees to my right. As she passes a few metres from me I recognise the red-haired girl from Five. She goes into the cave without looking back. Anybody else?

Hunting has taught me patience. I bide my time in case anybody else is about. Only then do I follow the others into the cave. The opening is quite narrow and once inside it twists and turns for a short distance. Then it opens out into what is clearly a man-made tunnel. As Peeta's ally had identified, there are lights at intervals, similar to those Cato and I came across before. The tunnel isn't straight, so I can't see too far. Fortunately there's enough light to see if anybody is lurking ahead of me, and the tunnel is too narrow to provide hiding places.

As I creep down the tunnel, I listen carefully for any sounds. Every now and then I can hear voices, but they are too distorted by the rock walls for me to make out what is being said. Despite the regular twists and turns, the tunnel is generally heading in a single direction and I detect a steady downward slope to the floor. I predict this tunnel will open out into one of the metal corridors before long.

I move slowly, risking losing contact with Peeta and the others entirely. As I anticipated the rough-hewn tunnel opens out into a metal-lined corridor. There's no sign of the others. A sudden crash alerts me to some unseen activity to my right. Do I go towards the noise or away from it?

I look at floor and see two silver strips running along the length of corridor. More of the guidance track for the vehicles Cato and I saw before. My intuition tells me to turn right and investigate the source of the noise. After a short distance the corridor opens out into another of the circular chambers Cato and I encountered earlier. There are a few grey-uniformed mutts standing about ignoring the buggy which has run off the guidance track and toppled over. The security checkpoint in the centre of the room is empty.

Next to the buggy is the body of a dark-haired tribute … the girl from District Eight. I go over and check on her. She barely alive and has a knife protruding from her back. Clove's handiwork, if what she told Cato is correct. I do what I can to make the girl comfortable, but she dies in my arms without speaking. Despite being deep underground I can hear the boom of a cannon signalling a tribute's death.

I remove the knife from her back and clean it and my bloodstained hands with my damp underpants. It's not the most graceful of actions but in the circumstances it's the most practical.

I circle around the damaged buggy. There's a backpack of supplies lying nearby. I take the pack and tuck the knife into the side pocket. I'll check the pack's contents later. There's no sign of Peeta or the two girls. Perhaps they went the other way when they came out of the tunnel. Unlike the chamber Cato and I discovered earlier, there are no doors in the wall. I can hear a faint sound of machinery coming from down one of the corridors and I decide to go in that direction.

When I notice the silver strips on the floor of the corridor I go back and take one of the parked buggies. Why walk when you can have a ride? I copy the actions Hope made to get the buggy to start. It is easy enough and I soon discover the variable position of the first lever controls the speed. I've no idea what the second lever does and I decide to get clear of this chamber before finding out.

I slow the buggy's speed down to a walking pace and move the second lever a small distance. At first I don't think anything has happened. Then I notice the buggy is no longer following the guidance tracks. It seems that it is able to run off the tracks if necessary. But how do I steer it? I move the lever a little more and the buggy makes a gradual turn to the left. Now I'm in danger of colliding with the wall. I suddenly understand how the other buggy could come have off the tracks and crash. I push the second lever back to its original position and the buggy veers towards the track again. It automatically locks onto the guidance system and continues on its way. I set the first lever to full speed … about twenty kilometres per hour.

The noise of the machinery is gradually getting louder but it is still some distance away. There are side tunnels joining the corridor at irregular intervals. I'm taken completely by surprise when someone leaps out of one of the tunnels as I pass. It's one of the female tributes … fortunately not Clove. She tries to board the buggy next to me, but misses her footing and ends up in a sprawl over the back seat of the buggy.

"Keep driving, mutt," says the girl once she's righted herself in the back seat. I realise she has mistaken me for one of the Gamemakers' mutts and, like me, she knows the human-like mutts aren't inherently violent. I keep facing forward so that she doesn't recognise me.

"Do you talk?" asks the girl. "The last greenie I saw could talk."

"Yes, I can talk," I reply.

"Good. How do I get out of here?" asks the girl.

I wish I knew. Does she mean back to the surface, or, like me, is she looking for an escape route?

"There are many ways to the surface," I reply.

"Just get us away from here," says the girl nervously. "Quickly. He can't be far behind."

I risk a look back. Behind us, but by now some distance away, another tribute runs out of the tunnel through which my passenger emerged. He's armed with a length of metal pipe and seems intent on doing my passenger harm. He runs after us but he can't match the speed of the buggy. He gradually gets further behind us, but in this straight corridor he will be able to see us for some distance.

By now the noise of the machinery is getting louder. The different lights ahead of us indicate we are nearing another chamber. I slow the buggy as we enter the chamber, the centre of which is taken up by what appears to be a hoist with two counter-balanced platforms, alternately going up and down to whatever is on the surface. The guidance track goes around the circumference of the chamber. There are parked buggies in our way. I'm not certain I want to demonstrate by doubtful ability at navigating this vehicle off track so I bring the buggy to a halt.

My passenger looks nervously back along the corridor. There are three ways into this chamber in addition to the platforms to the surface. Our pursuer is still following us, although we have a minute or two's head start. I now recognise the girl as the female tribute from District Ten. I can't remember her name. I didn't get a good enough view of her pursuer to identify him, but he's too small to be Cato, Marvel or Thresh. That doesn't mean he's not dangerous, though.

"Show me the fastest way out, greenie!" cries the girl.

"The platform," I say, needlessly pointing towards it.

"Come on. You're coming with me."

Staying here and facing the oncoming boy is a big risk. He might make the same mistake as the girl from Ten and simply ignore me. Or he may recognise me and attack. Or he may simply attack me anyway. I follow the girl onto the platform just before it starts its next upward move. In my haste I've left my backpack and wet underwear in the buggy. I'll have to retrieve them later.

I've no idea what this hoist normally conveys, but it has the capacity to carry several people or the equivalent weight in goods. The girl with me isn't bothered by such considerations. She's more concerned with getting away from her pursuer, who by now is cursing and waiting for the other platform to reach the bottom of its run. The platform stops at the top to allow us a few seconds to get off. We are inside a structure of some sort. A few boxes are scattered around near the platform. There are also six red-uniformed mutts standing motionless as though waiting for instructions.

"Where are we?" asks the girl.

I can't be certain, but I've a horrible feeling I know the answer to her question. I take a peek out of the narrow window next to the hoist. I'm right.

"The Cornucopia," I say.

"What!?" exclaims the girl. "You've led me into a trap, you stupid mutt."

For a moment I think she might attack me, although I should be able to defend myself against her. But time isn't on our side. The platform has already started to descend, which means the other one is rising towards us carrying the boy armed with the metal pipe.

"There are weapons and supplies outside," I reply. "Those defending the Cornucopia won't expect an approach from the inside. They are busy watching the perimeter. Just be careful where you step. There are mines around the supplies."

"We're going out there together, greenie. Come on."

With our pursuer only seconds behind us I can't stay here anyway. The girl opens the door in front of us and we step out onto a platform. The weapons and supplies are stacked in a pile about fifteen metres from where we stand. The disturbed earth around the pile confirms what I overheard Clove say to Cato. The area is definitely mined.


	15. 2-7 A surprise meeting

2-7. A surprise meeting

My assessment of the situation at the Cornucopia is wrong. The defenders aren't all in the nearby woods. Two of them are here at the centre of the Cornucopia. Cato and the boy from Three. They look at us in surprise as the girl from Ten and I step through the door.

"Katniss?!" exclaims Cato with a mixture of surprise and delight.

The girl from Ten panics at the sight of Cato and makes a headlong charge for a weapon from the stockpile. She forgets about the mines, which is a fatal mistake. The explosion knocks the boy from Three, Cato and I off our feet. I'm far enough away to avoid the shrapnel, but the blast sends me sprawling backwards. Fortunately I end up behind the door through which I've just come. The door is already closing and that fact saves me from the succeeding blasts as the shrapnel from first mine triggers the remaining mines. The whole pile of supplies and weapons is blown apart. The Careers have out-smarted themselves. Their defensive shield of mines has destroyed the very thing they wanted to protect.

I stagger to my feet, well aware the boy armed with the metal pipe will arrive at any moment. I open the door again and stumble outside to see a trail of destruction around me. The Cornucopia is made of some hard material which can withstand such an assault on its structure. I look in the direction where I last saw Cato. He and the boy with him are down, but they are moving about. Fortunately they were far enough away to avoid the worst of the shrapnel.

Before I can move any further the boy from below comes up behind me. I recognise him as the male tribute from District Six. He mistakes me for a mutt, so he runs by me to attack Cato and the boy from Three while they are down. He takes a wild swing at Cato with his jagged metal pipe. Cato manages to avoid his blow by rolling to one side. The boy then moves on to his next target and lands a killing blow to his head. The boy from Three goes down and doesn't rise. Dealing with the boy from Three has cost his attacker precious seconds. Cato has recovered his senses and has grabbed a large sword. Now the odds are stacked heavily in Cato's favour. The boy considers his options and decides flight is the better option to fight. He makes a dash for the trees around the perimeter, nearly eighty metres distant. He would have made it had Clove, Marvel and Glimmer not come running to investigate the explosion. Marvel is a crack shot when throwing a spear, and the boy from Six is felled nearly thirty metres short of his goal. His death is followed by three loud booms from the heavens. The traditional signal that three tributes have just died.

"I'm getting out of here," I call to Cato before Clove, Marvel and Glimmer come close enough to see me. "You've lost your supplies. Do you want to come with me?"

Cato is still groggy but understands my question. The door to the interior of the Cornucopia is closing and we have no means of opening it from our side. I try wedging to door open to allow Cato extra seconds to reach me. All I can do is slow the speed at which the door closes, but it's enough. Cato and I fall into the interior of the Cornucopia as the door slams shut.

"I thought I'd never see you again," says Cato, genuinely happy to see me. He takes me in an embrace which I willingly return. Only now do I realise how much I missed Cato's presence. One thing leads to another and before long we are like two beasts slaking our lust. Neither of us is gentle and it's fortunate my green uniform is made of sturdy material or I'd be spending the rest of the Games wearing rags.

We have no need to rush. Clove, Marvel and Glimmer can't reach us … they probably can't even hear us. There's even a chance the Gamemakers haven't placed a camera inside this part of the Cornucopia. But even if they have, I don't care. My built up passion has finally found an outlet, and Cato and I are content to relieve the pent up desires within each of us. I pay no mind to the red-uniformed mutts standing to attention on the other side of the hoist.

Finally Cato and I exhaust our lust for the time being. We kiss and caress each other for a while before getting dressed. In my case that's an easy task. I'm down to a pair of slip-on trousers, a tee shirt and a pair of light shoes. I almost feel naked, but I don't mind. After wearing the Jewels of Desire, I'm no longer prissy about my attire in public.

When we are ready, we jump onto the platform and descend to the chamber below. It's deserted apart from the vehicles lined up on one side. I go over to the buggy I arrived on in order to retrieve the backpack, and my underwear. I get there and look at the garments before deciding not to bother with them. I feel comfortable enough without them and if I get wet again, then my green uniform will dry much quicker if I'm not wearing them. I take the backpack, though.

"What's the plan?" asks Cato, risking another lecture about sharing the decision making.

"We find a way out of here. The river is in that direction. We could continue downstream from the pumps."

"But Hope said that there was a waterfall in that direction," says Cato.

"Yes. But she lied about a lot of things. That may be one of them."

Neither Cato nor I can come up with a better plan. We get into the leading vehicle and I set it in motion. After a few difficult manoeuvres I manage to get it to travel down the correct corridor. This time I keep an eye open each time we pass one of the many side tunnels. Every now and then we see grey-uniformed mutts just standing around. We even meet a buggy travelling in the opposite direction. The red-uniformed mutt just stares directly ahead and steers his buggy off the track and out of our way.

Our luck won't hold indefinitely. Surely the Gamemakers won't sit idly by and let us try to escape. I don't doubt for a minute that they can guess our plan. Their cameras and microphones will have almost continuous footage of Cato and I. Every conversation will have been recorded and analysed. I can only put the Gamemakers' lack of action down to more interesting events happening elsewhere in the arena. Perhaps the explosion at the Cornucopia and the death of three tributes has provided enough entertainment for the time being. It's a respite which won't last forever.

It's difficult to know which direction we are heading while we are underground. While I was at the Cornucopia, I made a mental note of the direction of the valley Cato and I followed earlier. I translated that into the layout of the corridors leaving the chamber below the Cornucopia. The corridor we are following is the one which heads up the valley. I think.

Distance is also another difficult thing to gauge underground. By now we should be well clear of the Cornucopia and into the valley beyond. It would help if the side tunnels had some form of identifying marks, but as far as I can tell they don't.

"Slow down a minute," says Cato suddenly. "I want to check something."

I do as he asks, and he jumps out of the buggy. He runs slightly ahead on me examining the entrance to the tunnels as we pass by.

"This one!" exclaims Cato with glee. "This is the tunnel we followed when we left the water pipes from the pumping station."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask.

"I left a mark at the entrance in case we needed to come back this way. See, I'm not just a gorgeous hunk who drives you wild with desire. I have learned the basics of this game."

"I'm impressed," I reply, wishing I too had thought of doing that.

I park the buggy to one side of the corridor and I join Cato at the entrance to the tunnel. We head down the tunnel. Before long we pass a ladder going up … presumably to the surface.

"That wasn't there when we came along here before," I say.

In fact there are several minor details which make me think we are in a different tunnel. An indentation in the floor and a sharp turn are features I don't remember from our last journey along here. After a while Cato is also beginning to doubt our choice of route.

"This isn't the right tunnel," Cato says a few minutes later. "I don't understand. It was definitely my mark at the entrance."

"A mark which could easily be copied," I reply. "The Gamemakers probably saw you leaving the mark and have put the same mark on other tunnels just to mislead us."

"Perhaps we should go back to that ladder. It will be much easier to get our bearings on the surface."

I agree with Cato's reasoning. We need to check where we are in relation to the river. It may be faster travelling by buggy down here, but there are too few landmarks to let us know where we are. We double back to the ladder and start to climb. We climb about ten metres before coming to a hatch door like the ones we encountered before. I open the hatch and quickly scramble out. As soon as I'm through I pull out my knife from the backpack. We don't know who else might be near here.

I needn't have worried. The hatch opens out inside a small cave. Daylight streams through the entrance. I help Cato through the hatch before taking a look outside. We are in the valley with the river, but we are about four hundred metres short of our goal. Cato comes up beside me while I try to work out exactly where we need to go. Once I'm happy that I've memorised the landmarks I indicate to Cato that we should move off quietly. There may be other tributes nearby, and despite both of us being armed, not all the tributes will give us a wide berth.

Expecting Cato to move quietly is a forlorn hope. A wild boar moves with more stealth. I keep a sharp lookout for trouble, but we make it to the river without incident. From there it's a simple matter of following the river upstream to its source. It takes about ten minutes to find the inlet pipes. The noise is deafening but there's no need for conversation. We find the ladder and descend to the pumping station below. The difficulty now is that we have no boat with which to attempt a river journey. We don't know how far we need to travel and the river may be too deep or turbulent to risk wading or swimming. I should have considered this before. It's probably why the Gamemakers have made no attempt to stop us.

We look about us in case the builders of the pumping station have left something we could use. Cato is the first to see a small store room nestled in the among the machinery. He breaks the lock and looks inside. There's a lantern which will be useful, but nothing that floats. We work our way around the pumps, which is quite tricky in places. There's plenty of discarded rubbish, but again nothing useful. I'm at the point of suggesting we give up our search when Cato spots something in the river.

We hold the lantern as close as we can to the object Cato has seen. To our amazement it's our dinghy which Hope had cast adrift into the current. The mooring rope has become entangled in last sluice gate, preventing the dinghy from floating away. Its a short swim to the boat and one which I can easily make. Cato isn't so sure. The turbulence from the sluice gate creates a strong undercurrent and he baulks at making the swim.

"There is some rope in the store room," he says. "I'll go and fetch it. We can use it as a safety line while one of us retrieves the dinghy."

Although I believe it unnecessary, I don't argue. Cato soon returns with the rope and I tie it around my waist. I'm confident I can make it easily, so I keep my pack on my back. The undercurrent is stronger than I thought, but I'm a strong enough swimmer to overcome the drag. I reach the dinghy and haul myself aboard. One of the paddles is missing, but thankfully the other one is still there. One of Hope's lanterns is there as well. I untie the safety line from my waist and fasten it to the dinghy.

"Tie the other end around your waist and I'll haul you aboard," I call to Cato.

But Cato has encountered a major problem. Thresh has appeared behind us and he's armed with a sickle. He must have seen us in the valley and followed us here. Cato abandoned his sword at the Cornucopia, but he has kept a long knife in his belt. Now he's engaged in a life and death struggle with Thresh.

"Get out of here Katniss," cries Cato.

"No," I cry, but Cato has discarded the rope into the water. Worse, my movement in the dinghy has caused the mooring rope to break free of the sluice gate and the dinghy is moving into the river current. I take the paddle, but by the time I can get control of the dinghy I'm too far into the river current to turn back. My last sight of Cato is of him duelling with Thresh on the shore by the pumping station.

Downhearted, I switch on the lantern and concentrate on keeping myself alive.


	16. 2-8 A river journey

2-8. A river journey

The turbulent current eases once the dinghy is inside the tunnel. The river flow is slower than it is upstream. The pumps must take much of water from the underground river to feed the river in the arena. Now I have control of the dinghy I don't hesitate to start paddling back to where I last saw Cato. I know that unaided I'll have no chance of getting the dinghy to shore against the current around the pumping station. My plan is simple. If Cato has defeated Thresh, then he will help me … if not, then I will have no need to put ashore.

I soon realise that even this weaker current is still too strong for me to make it back into the cavern. My arms are starting to tire and after ten minutes I'm forced to give up my attempt and turn the dinghy around. I listen for any sound of the battle between Cato and Thresh. Unfortunately the pumping station is too noisy and is drowning out all other sounds. The loud sound means I could be close to the waterfall Hope said existed and I'd not hear it. Hope lied about many things, but she also told the truth on occasion. I wish I knew how much of what she said is untrue. Do I have a sponsor who wishes to enslave me in exchange for getting me out of the arena? What will happen if I do escape? I can't imagine the Gamemakers letting me go free with a congratulatory pat on the back. I will need to think about these things later. For now I need to keep myself alive.

Travelling along an underground river is eerie. In my certainty that this river will provide a means of escape, I didn't consider the possibility that this river may never reach the surface. The tunnel at this point is five metres wide and the roof is about two metres above my head. I drift in the current, using the paddle to keep the dinghy in mid-stream. There are a few rocks I need to navigate around, but nothing as difficult as Hope, Cato and I encountered this morning. It is easy to loose track of time and I begin to wonder how long my journey is going to take. The battery in the lantern won't last forever and I've no food with me. The supplies in my backpack will help me hunt for food in the forest and the foil blanket will keep me dry and warm at night, but at the moment my backpack contains nothing useful.

I start turning Sophie's ring round and round my finger, just as I've done several times earlier today when I'm having doubts. It's becoming a nervous twitch of sorts. However, it provides me with a feeling of reassurance that everything will be okay. That's what I sense as the power of the ring. The ancient warrior princess talking to me across the ages. It's crazy, I know, but in this situation I need every bit of reassurance possible.

I press on, knowing there is no way back for me. In places the roof of the tunnel comes quite low and I need to duck down to avoid cracking my head. I don't panic though. The ring is telling me to carry on. If I'm wrong and the power of the ring is nothing more than a silly girl's fancy, then I'll die and nobody will know of my foolishness.

Time has no meaning down here. My arms are getting very tired, so I must have been paddling for some time. The tunnel goes narrower in places, and every now and then it angles downwards, causing the current to pick up speed. That apart, I haven't encounter any major hazards so far. The noise of the pumps gradually lessens, although I can still hear then behind me.

Twice on my underground river journey I see shafts of daylight streaming down from above. It reassures me that I could climb out of here if necessary. It's a false reassurance though. The surface must be twenty or thirty metres above me and the climb would be up a narrow vertical crevasse. I might be able to make it if I had sturdy boots on my feet, but it would be an impossible climb in the light shoes I'm wearing, or in bare feet.

I continue on my journey. The roof of the tunnel is quite low at this point. I sense a change, but at first I'm mystified by what it is. Then I realise that I can no longer hear the pumps. I don't think anything of it until I realise the river current is getting faster. The Gamemakers must have turned off the pumps. The water being diverted into the arena is now being directed along its natural course. The dinghy picks up speed and I work hard to keep it under control. My immediate worry is that the roof of the tunnel is getting lower … or more precisely, the level of the river is getting higher.

The Gamemakers couldn't have chosen a worse time to start flooding the tunnel. This low section of the tunnel is a perfect trap. Fortunately I can think clearly despite my predicament. It occurs to me that what is happening isn't a coincidence. For a while I've been puzzled as to why the Gamemakers didn't take any action to stop Cato and I from trying to escape. But perhaps I was wrong in that impression. The Gamemakers may have been interfering all along. They could have guided Thresh to our location knowing that he would intervene. Their last recordings of me will show me with Cato at the pumping station. But even with my tracker removed, they must have known for some time that I'm no longer there. It doesn't take a genius to narrow down the possibilities of where I could have gone. So why wait so long before taking any action?

I feel a shiver run through my spine when I realise the truth. The Gamemakers know exactly where I am, and have just been giving me a long leash on which to run before they spring their trap. I'm certain the tracker has been removed from my arm, but that doesn't mean there isn't another one secreted somewhere. I check my clothes and shoes. The fabric is so thin that even a tiny tracker would be impossible to hide. Which leaves the dinghy.

The more I think about it the more it seems likely that my betrayer is the dinghy or something which was on board when I arrived. It was a remarkable coincidence that the dinghy was snagged by the sluice gate. The turbulent water would surely have shaken the dinghy free long before Cato and I returned to the pumping station. Unfortunately the lantern is a sealed unit and I can't examine all of the dinghy without deflating it. I can't do that at the moment, and besides, once deflated, I've no means of inflating it again. I make a cursory examination just in case, but as I expected, I find nothing.

I reach a section of tunnel where the narrow gap between the water and the tunnel roof means I must lie down in the dinghy. There's no sign of the river flow easing. Then the inevitable happens. The water level becomes too high for the dinghy to float through the gap. I'm left with a choice … abandon the dinghy and swim, or wait here and hope the water level drops in a while. The Gamemakers won't want to starve the arena river of water for too long.

I pick up the lantern and try to peer into the tunnel ahead. It's unlikely the water would normally fill the entire tunnel, or the river would have forged a larger path for itself. The present flow is probably a surge caused by the sudden diversion of water from the arena. The man-made surface river flows in the opposite direction to the underground river, which means it must empty back into this river upstream of the pumping station. The water draining from the arena is now being added to the normal flow of the underground river, causing this flood.

A floating branch knocks into the dinghy, causing me to drop my lantern. I can only watch helplessly as it sinks below the water. I'm thrown into darkness. Now I'm in real trouble. The handful of matches in my backpack are of no use in this situation. I instinctively clutch the ring on my finger … seeking its reassurance, I guess. I don't experience anything special, but at least my mounting panic is calmed.

After a few moments my eyes adjust to the dark. It isn't pitch dark as I first thought. A patch on the ceiling shows a hint of light. It's as though a sliver of daylight has found its way down here. The front of the dinghy is resting against the tunnel roof, but the sloping ceiling means the rear of the dinghy has about half a metre of headroom. The lighter patch is about two metres from the rear of the dinghy and about a metre above the surface of the river.

I decide that it would be foolish to leave the dinghy in order to take my chances in the water. The current would immediately sweep me along like a twig. Eventually, it may come to that in any case, but for now I decide to investigate the source of the light. I reach up to the ceiling and find a handhold. It's slippery, but I manage to get a firm enough grip to haul the dinghy back the couple of metres I need. There's a steeply sloping narrow shaft in the ceiling, just large enough for me to squeeze my way through. Of course I can't be sure the shaft will be wide enough all the way to the surface. As it is, I'm likely to lose a lot of skin trying to edge my way up the shaft.

I rig my backpack so I can drag it behind me. It's small enough to squeeze into anywhere that I can fit. As soon as I leave the dinghy it floats a couple of metres downstream before becoming wedged again. The dinghy will stay here until the water level drops. It may still be here if I need to return. I begin my slow climb towards the daylight. The angle of the shaft is quite steep but only short sections are vertical. The smooth floor of the shaft looks as though it has been gouged out by water. Perhaps that's how the shaft was formed. Rainwater draining from the surface over countless centuries.

It's fortunate my clothing is made of virtually indestructible fabric. Ordinary clothes would be reduced to shreds by my difficult climb to the surface. As it is I'm bruised in more places than I care to count and I sport more than a few cuts to my hands and face. Eventually I reach the surface and quickly find a hiding place among the nearby bushes. I'm in a narrow valley similar to the one inside the arena.

Only this time I'm outside the arena. The edge of the huge dome over the arena is further down the valley, about a kilometre away. About a hundred metres away, in the middle of the valley floor, is a large two-storey building with a sign saying "Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games Arena". Smaller signs marked "Visitors Entrance", "Gift Shop" and "Café" hang over some of the doors into the building. I quickly realise that I'm looking at the tourist centre for the arena.

Of course the building is empty at the moment. Even the Gamemakers wouldn't be so crass as to allow tourists anywhere near the complex while the Games are in progress. A week after the Games finish, though, and this place will be swarming with visitors from the Capitol. The huge flat empty area between me and the building provides landing space for three or four air-hoppers. There's a small air hopper parked there already.

I work my way along the line of trees edging the complex. There are several cameras visibly monitoring the area and possibly more that I've not seen. They may not be active at the moment, but being seen is a risk I cannot afford to take.


	17. 2-9 An overheard conversation

2-9. An overheard conversation

My caution proves justified when I see a small building wedged between the tourist centre and the line of trees. This one is definitely occupied and seems to be some sort of guardhouse. I edge closer, keeping well hidden by the plentiful bushes and trees. I edge round to the side of the guardhouse and peer in through the open side window. I can see the backs of two white-uniformed security guards inside. They are engrossed in watching the television screen rather than the bank of security monitors to their right. There is a blinking red light on one of panels which the guards are ignoring. Somehow I sense that I'm the cause of the red light. I move position so that I can see what they are watching. It's Caesar Flickerman's hourly report on the progress of the Games. I pay attention to see if I can gain any clues about the Gamemakers' response to my escape.

"… _We are now eight hours into the 74th Hunger Games. What an eventful eight hours they have been. Public reaction in the Capitol to Seneca Crane's master-stroke at the start of the Games has been 86% positive. The multi-level arena is also gaining good reviews with 93% positive feedback. Tricking some of the tributes into believing they are escaping from the arena has so far received 79% positive feedback._

 _The number of fallen tributes now stands at eight following the death of Thresh from District Eleven just over an hour ago. I'm pleased to say Seneca Crane is waiting in the arena studio and he is ready to talk to us. Welcome, Seneca. You must be delighted with the start of these Games. Already there is talk about these Games being the best Hunger Games ever."_

I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear that Cato has defeated Thresh. I only wish I could have gone back to pick him up, but I know it was an impossible task. I'm shocked by Caesar Flickerman's revelation about other tributes being fooled into believing that they are escaping from the arena. I begin to wonder about their fate. Do they really stand a chance of escape, or are they simply being tricked into hiding so as to provide prey for the Careers later in the Games? Victims of a cruel trick to provide extended entertainment for the masses. I listen carefully to Seneca Crane's words. The initial part of his interview merely repeats what I already know. Then Caesar Flickerman moves on to the all-important subject.

" _Tell me about the_ _progress of the_ _tributes_ _who believe they are escaping from the arena_ _, Seneca_ ," asks Caesar Flickerman.

" _Well, they're not really escaping_ _from_ _the arena, of course. We initially chose only_ _three_ _tributes for this_ _feature_ _of_ _the 74_ _th_ _Hunger_ _Games, b_ _ut_ _Cato_ _from District Two_ _was with one of the tributes when we tried to draw her away from the Cornucopia. It was simpler to take both together._ "

" _Cato was w_ _ith Katniss Everdeen_ _from District Twelve_ _, if I remember correctly._ _An odd pairing._ "

" _Yes, that's right. We chose our_ _initial_ _three_ _tributes carefully. We wanted those who showed the most initiative and ability to respond quickly to new situations. Cato didn't really fit the_ _criteria_ _, but,_ _as you_ _have seen,_ _he_ _'s_ _made a reasonable effort_ _so far_ _._ "

" _So, how are the escapees doing?_ _We haven't seen any of them since Cato's battle with Thresh._ _Can you tell us where they are hiding?_ "

" _You know t_ _hat_ _unless the pictures are released for transmission, further information_ _is confidential_ _,_ " smiles Seneca Crane as though he's caught Caesar trying to ask a trick question.

" _But you do know where they are hiding?_ " persists Caesar Flickerman. " _Do you regret removing their trackers? Relying on your cameras_ _alone_ _to track them must be risky. Are you sure they can't escape?_ "

" _The_ _other_ _Gamemakers and I agreed that it was necessary to remove the trackers from the_ _three_ _…_ _four_ _… subjects or they would never believe they were escaping. It makes monitoring their location harder, but it's only a matter of time before a camera picks up their movements._ _If necessary, we can activate the grey mutts to search all the tunnels and caverns. The_ _mutts_ _can search the whole underground network in_ _less than_ _an hour._ _The risk_ _of an escape_ _is minimal._ "

" _You say m_ _inimal,_ _don't you mean_ _zero?_ " asks Caesar Flickerman innocently. He's a seasoned journalist and he suddenly senses a scoop.

" _It's impossible to guarantee total security. There are_ _several_ _access points into the arena, but they are well guarded. As_ _we discussed_ _this morning_ _, the arena is built over a network_ _of_ _natural cave_ _s_ _. There are a few places where the tunnels_ _and caves_ _open out_ _beyond_ _the arena, but they are too narrow or dangerous_ _for a human_ _to navigate. Similarly the underground river which feeds the arena is too hazardous for a tribute to_ _successfully_ _escape_ _by that_ _route. Even so, we_ _monitor_ _all the exits_ _closely_ _._ "

" _But wasn't the underground river the last location we saw_ _Katn_ _iss Everdeen?_ "

" _That's right, i_ _t was. The fight between Cato and Thresh distracted us all for a while. It was unfortunate that the camera_ _in t_ _hat location_ _malfunctioned after_ _the fight. But we clearly_ _saw_ _Cato_ _on the ladder_ _just before the camera failed,_ _and_ _we_ _heard him_ _talking to Katniss as they made their way to the surface._ "

" _Yes. We heard Cato_ _talking_ _. But I don't recall hearing Katniss's voice_ ," persists Caesar Flickerman.

" _Stop fishing for a story, Caesar,_ " laughs Seneca Crane. " _Who else would Cato be talking to?_ _They_ _didn't escape._ _T_ _he_ _y are_ _simply_ _lying low because of Cato's wounds_ _._ "

I silently thank Cato for coming up with his ruse. He's no doubt responsible for the broken camera. He's tried to cover my escape and lay a false trail to fool the Gamemakers. Does Seneca Crane really believe that I'm still inside the arena? I owe Cato a big hug … or something like that. Unfortunately, I suspect the Gamemakers have already realised that they've been tricked … if they were ever fooled.

" _I'll believe you … for now_ ," replies Caesar Flickerman in a light-hearted tone. "P _erhaps you would like to comment on the behaviour of the Careers instead? It's fascinating that Marvel, Glimmer and Clove all believe that Cato was one of those killed by the explosion at the Cornucopia._ "

" _Yes, that is an interesting twist_ ," replies Seneca Crane. " _Of course, the unfortunate girl who set off the mines was blown to pieces. It's understandable that the Careers mistook her remains for Cato, particularly as he chose to leave the scene with Katniss Everdeen through the service door of the Cornucopia. The Careers will realise their mistake this evening when the faces of the fallen tributes are broadcast to all the remaining tributes._ _Assuming, of course, Cato doesn't succumb to his wounds and join the eight deceased tributes before then._ "

I start to worry about Cato's injuries, but realistically there's nothing I can do to help him at the moment.

" _What do you think the Careers will do now the supplies at the Cornucopia_ _have been_ _destroyed?_ " asks Caesar Flickerman.

" _An interesting question,"_ replies Seneca Crane. _"_ _I don't know. Historically the Careers have performed poorly in those Games where they have lost access to the supplies. Let's see if this group can do any better._ "

" _Do you think Cato will try to rejoin the other Careers?_ "

" _Unlikely. I think he's thrown his lot in with Katniss Everdeen. I've no idea why. They are complete opposites when it comes to personality and skills._ "

" _Which might make them a perfect team. You know the old saying … opposites attract._ "

" _Indeed. Another exciting twist to these Games._ "

The interview moves onto other topics. I move away from the guardhouse and back into the trees. My safest option would be to disappear into the forest at the head of the valley. I have a knife, and my backpack contains enough assorted equipment to help me survive for a few days. But then what? I have no idea where I am, or in what direction safety might lie. I need more information before setting off into the wilderness. I silently return to my vantage point at the side of the guardhouse.

The guards are still watching their television and they continue to ignore the blinking red light on the panel to their right. This sleepy scene is suddenly broken when one of the guards notices the red light. The two guards burst into action. They bring up a display on one of their monitors which unfortunately I can't see from my position. One of the guards reaches for a communications device.

"Perimeter Monitoring Station Delta here," says one of the guards into the device. "We are monitoring tracker signal ID 327 coming from outside exit five … Yes, that ID is registered as being located on a dinghy … Exit five. The underground river. That's right … It's about half a kilometre away, moving slowly south-west … Yes, the speed of travel is consistent with a boat drifting along the river … Very well."

"Come on," says the guard to his companion. "We've been ordered to check it out. Central Control think it could be the dinghy the Everdeen girl took. They flushed the river tunnel a while back. If the girl was on the river at the time, then she's likely to have been killed. Dead or alive, if we find her then we're to bring her back. I'll get the air-hopper fired up."

"What's the rush," complains the other guard. "Look where the signal is coming from. It'll take another twenty minutes for that boat to drift to where the river reaches the surface. That's assuming, of course, that it's not another false alarm. It wouldn't be the first time the Gamemakers' fancy equipment has picked up a ghost signal."

"If we're not in position by the time that boat leaves the tunnel we'll be dead meat."

"Yeah, OK," says the reluctant guard. "You go ahead while I switch everything over to Central."

Two minutes later both men are on their way in the air-hopper I saw before. If they are right in their estimation, then I have at least twenty minutes to myself in this place. Although the guards locked the door to their building, in their haste they left the side window open. I check for cameras inside the room, but there are none. It seems nobody thought to monitor the monitoring station.

I scramble through the side window. I'm not certain what I'm hoping to achieve in this room, but there is a wealth of information around me. On the far wall is a door which must go into the tourist centre next door. The door is locked, but someone has carelessly left a door access card lying on a nearby desk. I don't dare touch any of the panel controls in case it sets off an alarm, so I decide to try my luck inside the tourist centre. There's no sign of an alarm on the door and the access card works first time.

Inside the tourist centre is like being in another world. Everything is ready for when the first tourists will arrive. The café is stocked with snacks and drinks, some of which finds it way into my stomach and backpack. The shop has a huge range of memorabilia. There's even a machine which will print a picture of the selected tribute on the front of a tee-shirt. A sample of each available picture is displayed on screens on the wall. I have to stifle a laugh when I see the one of me. It's a picture of me wearing the Jewels of Desire at last night's interview with Caesar Flickerman. The Gamemakers haven't wasted any time in getting their merchandise ready.

Although the tourist centre contains many interesting things, this isn't helping me to escape. Even though the lights and security cameras appear to be switched off, this area must be patrolled from time to time. I can't stay here for long.

I suspect something is wrong from the sudden sequence of sounds that weren't there before. I make a dash for the shop's back door. Unfortunately there's a white-uniformed guard standing on the other side. Two more men are entering the shop behind me. There's no escape. I could try fighting my way clear, but I'm realistic enough to know that eventually I'll be caught. I surrender peacefully and the guards escort me back to the café. To my surprise I see Hope is sitting at a table enjoying a drink.


	18. 2-10 Evasive answers

2-10. Evasive answers

"Shoplifting is a criminal offence," says Hope. "Do you intend to pay for the items you've taken?"

I don't reply at first, nervously fiddling with Sophie's ring.

"Did you pay for that drink?" I ask in a moment of inspiration.

"Hah! You are a sharp girl," laughs Hope. "One worthy of my help."

"Help?" I reply. "You lured Cato and I into a trap."

"A test. One which you successfully passed. What's more you've made it out of the arena by yourself. You've surpassed even my high expectations of you. It's a shame you didn't bring your boyfriend with you."

"Cato? He's hardly my boyfriend," I say suddenly feeling awkward about my relationship with Cato.

"Well, sex toy then," says Hope, obviously relishing my embarrassment.

"It wasn't for the want of me trying to rescue him," I say defensively.

"I know," replies Hope. "The Gamemakers are getting desperate in their search for you. Cato's ruse delayed their search for you by several minutes. Enough time for you to get clear of the metal grill the Gamemakers could have lowered to block your escape along the river tunnel. I've been watching you closely, Katniss Everdeen. I've decided I like you."

"How much of what you've told me is a lie?" I ask, on the off-chance that she'll tell me.

"I may have stretched the truth on a couple of occasions, but I haven't lied to you."

"So does that mean I have a sponsor who has paid you to deliver me to him or her? One who wishes to enslave me?"

"You have a sponsor, yes. One who has generously provided information and money to make my mission possible. I'm delighted you managed to complete the most difficult part by yourself. Getting you through the arena perimeter was always going to be the hardest task. But your sponsor doesn't wish to enslave you. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"We live in a world where favours are rarely done out of kindness. You said yourself that I was well and truly bought. I assumed the events at the start of the Games were caused my sponsor. That sort of disruption would have required a lot of planning and cost a lot of money."

"Hmmm. I understand. I exaggerated a bit this morning. But you must have realised that you were mistaken. Your sponsor was merely aware of what Seneca Crane had planned, and simply took advantage of the chaos which was sure to follow."

"So what happens now?" I ask.

"We wait," replies Hope. "I can move you to a safe location once the immediate hue and cry dies down. The next patrol through here isn't due for another hour, so we've plenty of time. By that time the Gamemakers will have recovered the empty dinghy and assumed that you were drowned in the river. Without a body they can never be sure, of course, but Seneca Crane won't want anybody to know that you might have escaped. He'll bully the other Gamemakers into agreeing that you have drowned and signal your death to those in the arena. It won't be the first time there's been no body to return to the tribute's family."

I momentarily remember the girl who was blown apart by the mines at the Cornucopia. Will her family be handed her remains in a jar, or will they be spared the horror and told there is no body to return.

I still feel uneasy about what is happening, but that occasional sense of ease I attribute as coming from Sophie's ring tells me I'll be okay. In any case, I don't have much option. Hope hasn't left my side and the three guards with her aren't too far away.

"How did you know I was here," I ask Hope while we are waiting.

"Your green uniform," replies Hope.

"But I checked it for trackers."

"And you wouldn't have found one. The fabric contains a mesh which my wrist device is tuned to detect up to several kilometres away. Between the television broadcasts and my device, I've known where you have been all along. Admittedly I had to change my plans suddenly. I didn't anticipate you finding a way out of the underground tunnel where you did. It's fortunate you didn't continue along the river, or I'd have difficulty rescuing you from the clutches of the Gamemakers security guards … assuming you survived the ordeal."

About forty minutes later Hope starts messing about with the device on her wrist.

"Time to go," she says. "The security alert has been cancelled. They've found the empty dinghy and arrived at the expected conclusion … you'll soon be officially dead."

"So what happens to me now?" I ask, not certain I want to be officially dead.

"A safe house for now," replies Hope. "Once the Games are over, we can arrange for a new identity and false papers for you."

The safe house turns out to be one of the many temporary accommodation huts built for the arena's construction workers. Most are empty now that the construction is complete, but a few are still occupied by maintenance workers. My green uniform blends in perfectly with the similarly clad workers. Nobody pays any attention to a new worker in their midst. Once I trim my hair, my appearance is sufficiently different from the pictures of me shown on television to avoid comparison. It's a sad fact that the faces of deceased tributes are soon forgotten. Under Hope's careful supervision, I blend into my new surroundings.

The 74th Hunger Games continue. I'm torn between ignoring the whole event, or watching the grisly end of people I've met. I hate to admit it but I want to follow Cato's progress and watching the Games is the only way I'll find out. Cato is in a bad way. His injuries aren't life threatening, but they have left him in a weakened state. He's managing to survive by eating berries I showed him during our brief time together in the woods. The other tributes keep clear of him, not realising the extent of his injuries.

As has happened previously to the Careers, the alliance between Marvel, Glimmer and Clove quickly disintegrates once the few scraps of food which survived the explosion are exhausted. Glimmer picks a fight with Clove and pays for her mistake with her life. Marvel avenges Glimmer, but not without a disabling injury. He's easy prey for the boy from Five who looks as though he's now the most lethal of the surviving tributes apart from Cato.

After a couple of days there's no further mention of me. I'm simply recorded as the ninth victim of the Games. The Games continue for another ten days. Each day sees one or more of the tributes succumb to hunger, illness, accident or, occasionally, a fight with another tribute. On the eighth day Peeta falls victim to the boy from Five. The only surviving tribute I don't see after the fourth day is Rue from District Eleven. She's another of the tributes wearing a green uniform, labelling her as one of the tributes initially fooled into thinking they were escaping from the arena. The girl from Three was the other escapee, but she fell in one of the vertical shafts on the fifth day and was killed by the fall.

The death of the boy from Seven signals what everyone expects will be the start of the final day of the 74th Hunger Games. Cato, Rue and the boy from Five are the only survivors by this stage. Traditionally the Gamemakers play their tricks and herd the surviving tributes together for a final showdown. But there's no sign of Rue. Even Ceasar Flickerman is becoming frustrated by Seneca Crane's evasive answers about her whereabouts.

"She's escaped," I say to Hope, suddenly realising what should have been obvious to me all along.

"Possibly," replies Hope. "My device isn't tuned to track the signal from her uniform. I haven't heard from the agent assigned to help her for several days. It's possible they are hiding like we are. But it's equally possible that Rue is trapped underground. There are several tunnels leading from the arena which the Gamemakers haven't bothered to seal because they are too narrow for a human to squeeze through. Rue is small, so she might have found one of those tunnels and attempted to get out. I've no way of knowing whether she's succeeded or not."

As if to answer our question, there is the boom of a cannon signalling a tribute's death. Hope and I look at the television screen and see a picture of Rue projected onto the underside of the arena dome. At this stage of the Games, the identity of any deceased tribute is broadcast immediately. Of course we have no means of knowing whether the report of Rue's death is real, or faked by the Gamemakers. I recall seeing my picture broadcast on the evening of the first day and know it doesn't prove anything.

Caesar Flickerman will undoubtedly have questions about Rue's death, but he must hold them until later. Everyone's attention is now on the face-to-face battle between Cato and the boy from Five. As final battles go, this one must rank as one of the shortest. Cato has recovered from his wounds and the boy from Five is no match for Cato's strength and skill. It's all over in less than five minutes. Cato has won.

After that everything becomes a heady mix of activity and relief that the Games are over. By now I've new identity papers and my presence in the accommodation village is accepted without question. Hope even has me join some of the work parties assigned to help transform the arena from a battleground into a place fit for tourists. Inside the arena, signposts are erected pointing to several places where significant events took place during the Games. It seems odd placing signs directing visitors to where Cato and I climbed down to the pumping station.

A minor panic occurs when two unexploded mines are discovered at the Cornucopia. Work halts for a while until a bomb disposal unit can disarm them and sweep the area for any more. Eventually the work is complete and the Tourist Centre is declared ready to be opened.

I'm told that by tradition the Hunger Games victor is "invited" to open the Tourist Centre. It's not always possible for them to come, since they may still be recovering from their wounds or have other functions to attend in the Capitol. To my delight Cato turns up in person. He's looking more like his old self with his slightly arrogant swagger. He looks sadder, though, despite his victory. I'm standing at the side of the gathering with the dozen or so other workers who have been retained to service the arena and act as guides for the tourists. I don't know how Hope has arranged this job for me. Before she left she made it clear that she wasn't going to tell me anything more ... even the identity of my sponsor. She was equally evasive about Rue's fate. I guess I'll never know what happened to Rue.

Once the official opening is complete we all get a chance to mingle and congratulate the victor of the 74th Hunger Games in person. I must wait my turn behind the crowd of dignitaries who will soon be wanting a guided tour. I begin to worry that I'll be called away to escort my first tour party before I can reach Cato. But luck is on my side. I can tell Cato is starting to get weary of all the handshaking and back-patting. I need to be careful in public, but I must show him how much I miss him. I pick my moment and go up to him and plant a firm kiss on his mouth. I've taken him by surprise and he's torn between enjoying our kiss and pushing away an over-enthusiastic admirer.

"Thanks for what you did," I say before Cato's minder can tear us apart.

"Um … sure," replies Cato, unsure of my meaning. Cato's minder now has me firmly in his grip and he is pushing me back to where I should be standing.

Only then does Cato recognise who has just kissed him. I hold my finger to my mouth to try and stop him from blurting out my name. He understands, but still silently mouths my name. My last sight of him is the look of delight on his face. My emotions soar to new heights.

"Do come again. And ask Haymitch, Cinna and Effie to visit," I say before the crowd envelopes me. From his reaction when he recognised me, I know Cato will find a way to come and see me again.


	19. 3-1 Betrayed

3-1. Betrayed

My own complacency is my final betrayer. For months I've taken tour parties around the 74th Hunger Games arena without any mishap. Sure, a few visitors comment that I look something like ... what was her name? ... the female tribute from District Twelve. Surprisingly few visitors remember any tribute's name, and even fewer care. Except Cato's name. As victor, his name is on everyone's lips. Time has helped me slip into obscurity. Which suits me fine. Unfortunately it's something which has made me complacent. My false identity as Katie Deane has stood up well so far.

Six months after the 74th Hunger Games finished we still get a lot of visitors to the arena. Enough to keep four tour guides regularly employed. I don't think anything is amiss when I recognise the elderly gentleman in my tour group today. I've seen him several times before. This must be at least his eighth visit to the arena. I make a comment to that effect to the other guides who are standing with me waiting for our respective tour parties to assemble.

"Yes, I've seen him before," says Sterling, our head guide. "He always insists on being in your tour group, Katie."

"Why?" I ask, surprised.

"I've no idea," laughs Sterling. "Perhaps he likes being shown around by a pretty young girl rather than crusty old sods like Groat and I."

"I don't buy that," I reply. "If he wants a pretty young girl for a guide, then Hazel is the obvious choice."

"Ah, don't under-estimate your talents, Katie," replies Sterling. "Your likeness to Katniss Everdeen works in your favour. You should emphasize that similarity more often."

"No thanks," I reply, trying to hide my alarm at such a prospect. "Next you'll be suggesting that I conduct my tours wearing the Jewels of Desire."

"Now there's a brilliant idea," teases Hazel. "Imagine the droves of extra visitors we'll get. You'd make a fortune in tips."

Fortunately I know Hazel isn't being serious. Not because she wants to protect my modesty, but everyone working here relies heavily on the generosity of our visitors. Anything that might give one of us an advantage over the others is never openly encouraged. The remote location of the arena means living here is expensive. Our base pay is not enough to do more than provide a bed in a dormitory and to keep us from starving. Still, providing you can stand the isolation, it's a better life than working in some factory or farm in one of the districts.

My group of twelve is finally ready to begin our tour of the arena. Each tour guide has his or her favourite route to reach the twenty three "must-see" places inside the arena. My tour route is probably the longest since I include a few other places which hold personal memories for me. Not that I admit that's the reason while we wander along otherwise untravelled paths. My time in the arena during the 74th Hunger Games may have totalled only a few hours, but I covered a reasonable distance in that time. My longer route means I get less free time before my next tour, but I don't mind.

"What do you know about the Jewels of Desire?" asks the elderly gentleman while I'm enjoying a few moments respite at the Cornucopia. The rest of my party are exploring the Cornucopia and its surrounds. His question catches me completely by surprise.

"Um ... it's the name of the costume that the female tribute from District Twelve ... Katniss Everdeen ... wore at Caesar Flickerman's interview, the night before the Hunger Games started," I reply, rattling off the standard response to such a question.

"I know that," replies the man. "But where are the Jewels of Desire now?"

"I believe the Jewels of Desire are owned by Effie Trinket," I reply. "She was one of the support team for the District Twelve tributes. I presume they were returned to her after the interview."

"Ah, but they weren't. Or at least, Effie no longer has them in her possession. Apparently she gave them away. My question to you is what do you know about the whereabouts of the Jewels of Desire?"

"Why should I know anything about what happened to them?" I reply.

"Because last time I came on a tour here, you were wearing an emerald ring. One which was last seen on Katniss Everdeen's finger when she entered the 74th Hunger Games arena. The ring which compliments the Jewels of Desire. If you can't tell me about the Jewels of Desire, then tell me about the ring."

I silently curse myself for my carelessness. Unfortunately he's right. I tried to return Effie's ring to her when she first visited me here at the arena. She refused to take it, and instead gave me the Jewels of Desire as a gift. I've kept both the ring and the Jewels safely hidden since then. But the ring seems to exert a strange pull on me, and more than once I've taken the ring out of hiding and briefly worn it. Not today, though, so the man clearly noted my error on a previous visit.

"Um ... the ring is an imitation. Some of the tourists like me to pretend to be Katniss Everdeen."

I can tell that he doesn't believe me. Even I know my excuse is lame. He's clearly done his homework before confronting me.

"Hmmm. I'm sure Cato would be disappointed to learn that you're not the real Katniss Everdeen. He seems quite taken with her. So much so that his repeated visits here are what attracted my attention in the first place."

What?! I didn't think Cato and I had been that indiscreet with our meetings. On reflection, though, Cato's fortnightly visits to the arena might have been a bit suspicious. He has a busy schedule of functions and interviews to attend, so taking time off to visit me might have attracted notice.

"I'm just a district girl trying to earn a living," I reply defensively. "Anyway, what's your interest in my movements? If I was really Katniss Everdeen, then I'm sure the Gamemakers would give you a reward for my capture."

"I don't think either of us want Seneca Crane to know that Katniss Evrdeen is still alive. Crane put his career on the line when he declared you dead on the first day of the Games. A risky decision to make based on such flimsy evidence. And, of course, a person so close to President Snow doesn't simply have his career to worry about. President Snow isn't the forgiving sort of person. No, my dear Katniss; Seneca Crane will have you killed the moment he suspects your real identity."

"I'm admitting nothing," I reply, trying not to raise my voice. "You haven't told me why you are making these accusations."

"Observations, Katniss; not accusations. Anyway, the others are returning, so we must continue our discussion later."

I do my best to complete my tour without showing my nervousness. As we traverse the final stages of the tour, I try to work out what this man wants from me. He knows Effie no longer has the Jewels of Desire. That means he must have spoken to Effie. Is he some sort of pervert who wants to see me wearing the Jewels? Somehow I don't think so. I have a feeling that his game runs much deeper into the murky world of Panem politics.

I complete the tour and receive the usual number of gratuities from my visitors. Except the elderly man who offers me nothing but a knowing smile. I'm feeling slightly ill by now, and I debate whether to skip my remaining tours for today. I'm sure Sterling, Groat and Hazel won't mind the extra tips they will accumulate if I do call it a day. However, I steel my nerves and present myself on schedule for my next tour party.

"You must have impressed your mysterious admirer, Katie," chuckles Sterling. "He's requested that you give him a personal tour. He's offering you a huge bonus if you agree."

I turn towards the man, who is watching me intently. I nod in agreement. It's no good hiding from whatever fate this man has brought upon me. Sterling and the other guides are equally pleased. It means they get the tips from the visitors I would have otherwise escorted.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself," says the man, once we are away from the others. "My name is Plutarch Heavensbee. I'm a ..."

"Gamemaker," I add, recognising the name from my time at the Hunger Games Training Centre.

"More than that, but Gamemaker will suffice for now," continues Plutarch Heavensbee. "I find myself in need of your services. You're a born survivor, which makes you ideal for what I have in mind."

"And what is that?" I reply with a defeated sigh. I'm trapped.

"I need a symbol. Someone to rouse the population. Someone the people of the districts can admire and emulate. Someone who can give new hope to the downtrodden. Someone whose opposition to President Snow can't be disputed."

"I can't see how I fit any of those requirements," I reply. "All I want to do is to live my life in peace and quiet."

"Which is something you can no longer have. At least, while President Snow remains in power. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

"So what do you want me to do?" I ask. "I'm no good at public speaking, and I'm in hiding, in case you hadn't noticed.

"Only for now. What I propose carries certain dangers. But my plan is no more dangerous to you than your current situation."

"So what do you want me to do?" I repeat.

"For now, nothing more than you are doing at the moment. But in a few months I will want you to volunteer as District Twelve's female tribute for the 75th Hunger Games. I need you to enter the Hunger Games arena once again."

"No way! You're mad! Besides, Katie Deane is a District Two resident. I couldn't volunteer even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

"You would be volunteering as Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve," replies Plutarch Heavensbee. "I intend to reveal to all of Panem that you survived the 74th Hunger Games."

"President Snow would have me killed the moment that happened," I reply incredulously.

"No, he wouldn't. You would be providing him with a solution to a very tricky problem."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"The 75th Hunger Games is a Quarter Quell. The special Quarter Quell rules call for the tributes to be drawn from the survivors of previous Hunger Games. Unfortunately there has never been a female victor from District Twelve. Only two people fit the criteria. Neither was a victor, but each was certainly a survivor."

"Why should I sacrifice myself to help the Gamemakers?"

"Because, if you don't, then your sister Primrose will be sent into the arena. She was selected as the District Twelve female tribute for the 74th Hunger Games. That means that she technically survived the Games when you volunteered in her place. So, you see, Katniss; either you or your sister will be entering the 75th Hunger Games arena. Your choice."

I'm lost for words. I can't let Prim enter the arena. She wouldn't last five minutes. Of course, if Heavensbee's plan goes wrong, then both Prim and I could both be killed.

"What about Cato?" I ask, suddenly realising that he might be forced to enter the arena again.

"District Two has five surviving male victors, so Cato will have to wait for the reaping to find out whether he's drawn the short straw. Even then, one of the others might volunteer in his place."

"So it appears that I'm at your mercy," I say.

"Let's think of it more as a partnership," says Plutarch Heavensbee. "If we both play our cards right, then we each stand to gain what we desire the most."

A very one sided partnership to my mind. Heavensbee could betray me at any time. Even if his plan succeeds, it's more than likely I'll be killed in the arena. After all, the other 23 tributes will all be Hunger Games victors. Every one an experienced killer.

"Talking of desire," says Plutarch Havensbee as we continue of fake tour of the arena. "I suggest you retrieve the Jewels of Desire from wherever you have them hidden and practise wearing them. We need to get you into the Capitol in a few weeks time. We stand a better chance of success if you pose as a night club dancer. It's one of the few professions where the Capitol's authorities allow employers to hire district girls. But competition is fierce, so you'll need to be something special. Wearing the Jewels should give you an edge over your rivals."

"Why do I need to go to the Capitol?" I ask.

"It's the only way I can get you into District Twelve at the right moment. If we reveal your true identity too early, then Seneca Crane will have you killed. Hiding under his nose is the safest place for you at the moment."

"Can I tell Cato?" I ask.

"Yes, of course," replies Plutarch Heavensbee. "I've already discussed my plan with him. He'll be here tomorrow to fill you in on the details."

"So you already knew my identity?," I ask, hiding my annoyance at Heavensbee's trickery. "Today was simply a test to see if I would play along with your plan."

"Yes and no," replies Plutarch Heavensbee. "I can't force you to help me, and I needed to be sure that you have the courage to make this work. In that respect you've passed with flying colours. I am confident that we can succeed in our quest."


	20. 3-2 No alternative

3-2. No alternative.

Cato does what he can to placate my anger. He had no right to place me in such danger without consulting with me beforehand. Now I'm trapped into following Plutarch Heavensbee's dangerous plan without any say in the matter. I don't trust Heavensbee. No matter how well he sugar-coats his plan, it doesn't alter the fact that a Hunger Games Gamemaker knows my real identity. I'm forced into relying on Plutarch Heavensbee's continued hostility towards Seneca Crane to keep me alive. Seneca Crane told all of Panem that I died on the first day of the 74th Hunger Games. He's not likely to take the news of my survival at all well. Not only that I survived, but that I escaped from his supposedly escape-proof arena. And Heavensbee's plan is to reveal that information to everybody.

"I didn't have any alternative," pleads Cato. "If I refused to help Heavensbee, who knows what he would have done? He only needed to tell the other Gamemakers that he suspected you of being Katniss Everdeen for the whole game to be up. Besides, his plan might actually work and then we'd be rid of President Snow for good."

"Well, I won't be sorry to see the end of President Snow," I reply, giving Cato a break from my tirade. "But Heavensbee isn't plotting all this on his own. Who are his powerful backers? Who will fill the void once President Snow is overthrown?"

"I don't know, but can anything be worse than the current regime?"

"I hope not, but I don't relish the prospect of replacing one tyrant with another. People are going to get killed before Heavensbee's plan comes to fruition. And I don't just mean those inside the 75th Hunger Games arena."

"Any rebellion has its casualties," says Cato, as though spouting one of Heavensbee's mantras.

I can't stay angry at Cato for long. Apart from anything else, I'm feeling randy. I've been practising wearing the Jewels of Desire as Plutarch Heavensbee has commanded. It's difficult to wear the Jewels without becoming aroused. It's what the clever designer of the costume intended. Both the wearer and the watcher are quickly drawn into a highly charged erotic state.

"You've been wearing the Jewels of Desire again, haven't you?" says Cato when he senses my mood.

"Yeah. Would you like me to put them on now?" I tease.

I don't wait for Cato's answer. He's a hot blooded heterosexual male, so he'll obviously enjoy watching a scantily clad girl display her body in front of him. He's so predictable in that way. I'm looking forward to making him drool with lust for my body. It gives me a sense of power in a world where I otherwise have none.

Thanks to my weeks of practise, I can put on the costume in just over a minute. Given the minimal covering it provides, you would be forgiven for thinking that a minute is an excessively long time. But the hidden parts of the costume need to be placed carefully, otherwise a pleasurable experience becomes quite painful. Not that Cato would notice the difference, but I certainly would.

The costume remains on my body for almost fifteen minutes before Cato and I are overcome by passion. I'm careful not to damage my costume as Cato has me strip before his eyes. It's an emotional scene which ends in the predictable way. I just hope that I don't give in to such wantonness when I'm performing in the Capitol.

The last message I received from Plutarch Heavensbee said I would be moving to the Capitol in a fortnight. It's perhaps as well, since the visitor numbers to the arena have dwindled now the build up to 75th Hunger Games is in full swing. With fewer tips from our visitors, it's becoming difficult to make ends meet. Groat left last week to seek work in his home district. It's only a matter of time before Sterling suggests either Hazel or I quit for greener pastures. His job is safe, of course. He's worked at three arena sites before this one. The Gamemakers will probably move him to the 75th Hunger Games arena after the upcoming Games. Few arena sites survive as tourist attractions for more than a year, particularly once the valuable dome is dismantled for re-use. With no further need to control the weather or time of day within the arena, the dome is redundant as soon as the Games are over. The only reason the Gamemakers don't remove the dome immediately is because it would delay the opening of the arena to visitors by several months. The Gamemakers consider it better to wait until visitor numbers dwindle before removing the dome.

Cato leaves the next morning and I return to work. I've only two tour parties scheduled for today, so I plan to go hunting in the surrounding forest after lunch. It's another way to supplement my meagre income. The bland packaged food flown in on the weekly supply run is never very appetising. Fresh meat and berries are always a welcome addition. Even the cafeteria buys some of the game that I catch. A premium special on their menu to tempt the more affluent visitors.

Hazel comes to sit with me while we wait for our second tour party to arrive. She's not normally very talkative, being cautiously polite rather than friendly towards her workmates.

"Have you heard about the selection criteria for the tributes?" she asks.

"For the 75th Hunger Games? Yes," I reply. "Each tribute must be a survivor from one of the previous Hunger Games."

"Yes. A survivor rather than a victor. All because District Twelve has never had a female victor."

"That's hardly their fault. Besides, I doubt it'll make much difference," I reply, not letting on that my sister and I are victims of that rule.

"Yes it will. It means that everyone who was selected at a reaping, but who was replaced by a volunteer, becomes eligible for this year's reaping. They've created that rule to make it possible to take that girl from District Twelve whose sister volunteered last year. But it also catches hundreds of people from Districts One and Two who were replaced by the Careers. I'm one of them."

I vaguely recall Hazel mentioning that her name had been drawn during the 72nd Hunger Games. Of course, being from District One, she was quickly replaced by a Career volunteer. I had been so focussed on Prim's situation that I hadn't realised the full extent of the rule. It's probably why Plutarch Heavensbee wants me to come forward to replace Prim. That way the Gamemakers can rescind the rule which snares Prim, and those like her, in the reaping. They can then ensure that the tributes from Districts One and Two are trained killers rather than some hapless workers. The 75th Hunger Games would be less entertaining to watch without the much vaunted Careers.

"I'm sure one of the Careers would volunteer to replace the one chosen," I reply, even though I'm not convinced that they would. I've already made Cato promise that he won't volunteer. "After all, there's district pride to consider."

"There's talk that the Gamemakers won't allow volunteers this year," replies Hazel. "What if I'm chosen?"

I'm tempted to say that if that happens then she and I will meet as deadly rivals in a Hunger Games arena. But I hold my tongue and instead mutter a few reassuring words, pointing out that the chances of her being picked are still quite small. Significantly better odds than mine.

The next time Cato visits me he brings some documents from Plutarch Heavensbee. They include travel vouchers and an entry permit to the Capitol, all registered in my false name. I have less than a day to pack my few things and tell Sterling that I'm quitting my job at the arena. Since he's been hinting that either Hazel or I should leave, my departure doesn't come as a surprise. Cato travels part of the way with me. Even though he's a Hunger Games victor, he's not allowed to enter the Capitol without permission. I enter the Capitol alone and find my way to Effie's apartment. She insists on being my host for the time being, even though Plutarch Heavensbee prefers that I live nearer to where I'll be working. Effie's help in shielding me from the unwelcome eyes of officialdom has kept me safe for over six months. I'm not going to reject her help now.

My mysterious sponsor, who arranged for my escape from the arena, achieved his or her goal once I was outside the arena. My escape was nothing more than the winning move in a high stakes bet. When Hope left me with a job at the arena Tourist Centre, she told me that I'm free of any obligations to my sponsor, but also that I've been abandoned to my own fate. Well, not quite. Cato and Effie have since stepped in to help me. Now Plutarch Heavensbee is involved as well.

"There's only one night club hiring district girls at the moment," says Plutarch Heavensbee when he visits Effie's apartment that evening. "It means that you'll be working for tips only for the first two weeks. If you impress the club's owner during that time, then he might keep you on and offer you a small wage in addition. It's important that you secure this job."

While I'm sure Effie would continue to provide me with shelter, I can't afford to get on the wrong side of Plutarch Heavensbee. Whatever he is planning is being kept a closely guarded secret. I accept his letter of recommendation addressed to Flavius Brock, owner of the Lone Wolf night club. The letter won't guarantee me a job, but it should at least stop Flavius from rejecting me without giving me a trial.

I arrive at the Lone Wolf to find a score of other would-be dancers waiting for an audition, with more girls arriving after me. Nearly all of them are district girls. The distinctive features of the few Capitol born girls makes them stand out. Without knowing what sort of attributes the Lone Wolf's owners are looking for in their dancers I can't tell how well I might do. I register my name with the woman at the desk and hand her Heavensbee's letter. She doesn't bother reading the letter and simply hands me a numbered card.

"First six girls; get changed and go on stage," says the woman.

Whatever happens on stage can't take very long as the next six girls are told to go and change only five minutes later. I'm in the fourth group and I'm feeling quite nervous by the time my group is called. There will be at least two groups following mine.

I quickly change into the Jewels of Desire in the open plan changing room. I place my clothes in my allocated locker. The lock mechanism is somehow linked to the numbered card, which I notice the other girls have pinned to their costumes. That could be a problem for me. The chains and jewels which make up my costume aren't suitable for pinned additions.

"Here! Pin you card to this scarf and tie it around your arm or leg," says one of the girls next to me. "I'm Juno, by the way."

"I'm Katie. Thanks," I reply, doing as she suggests. The card is going to be in the way of my dancing, but I'll just have to manage.

All too soon, we are called onto the stage. In reality the stage is a slightly raised platform that curves its way between the patrons seats and tables. The bright lights shining onto the stage make it difficult for me to see the audience. As far as I can tell, the club is empty at the moment except for two men and two women sat at a table near the stage. I presume they are the judges of this audition.

"Dance! You clodhoppers!" snaps one of the men. "My patrons expect grace, beauty and style. Not a bunch of district yokels pressing grapes."

We each do our best to dance to the unusual rhythm of the music. It's not an easy task and I struggle to keep my motions fluid and graceful. This isn't something I've ever had to do before. I can't risk a look at the other girls, so I can only hope that they aren't doing any better.

"Enough!" calls the man I presume must be Flavius Brock. "You and you, go over there. The rest of you can get out of my sight."


	21. 3-3 Dancing girl

3-3. Dancing girl.

Juno and I join the other rejected girls and we change back into our normal clothes. I did my best, but clearly there are others better suited to Flavius Brock's expectations of a dancing girl. Plutarch Heavensbee's letter didn't do me any good. I'm not looking forward to telling him about my failure.

"Come on Katie," says Juno once we have changed. "There's a couple of other clubs running auditions today. We are still in time to make one of them. Up market or down?"

"What do you mean? I was told the Lone Wolf was the only one hiring district girls at the moment."

"You were misinformed," replies Juno. "There's the Merry Mermaid, but that's a bit of a sleazy dump, or there's the Black Cat. That's very up market though, and they're quite picky about who they hire. We'd stand a better chance of getting a job at the Mermaid, as long as you don't mind being pawed by the patrons."

"I vote we try for the Black Cat," I reply. "I'm not going to dance in front of a bunch of drunken louts. But you go to the Mermaid if you want."

"The Black Cat it is," says Juno. "We should stick together and watch each other's back. This line of work has its own special dangers. Girls have been known to disappear without trace."

The more I learn about this type of work, the more I wish I didn't have to do it. But I'm trapped into following Heavensbee's plan. Besides, entering the 75th Hunger Games arena is going to be a lot more dangerous than fending off over-enthusiastic admirers.

Juno shows me the way to the Black Cat club. A few of the other girls rejected by Flavius Brock are heading there as well. The majority, though, have either gone to the Merry Mermaid, or have given up entirely. As Juno implied, the Black Cat caters for a much wealthier class of patron, so I anticipate a much harder audition.

The auditions have already started by the time we arrive, so Juno and I are among the last girls to perform. The process is much the same as at the Lone Wolf, other than we are auditioned one at a time. Fortunately the music playing has a much more consistent rhythm compared to the discordant tune at the Lone Wolf. And the lighting here is better at displaying the attributes of my costume.

The music stops and I'm called over to the table where two men and a woman are sat. They launch into a standard set of questions, which I answer as best I can.

"We don't need Katniss Everdeen wearing the Jewels of Desire," says the woman to her companions as though I'm not present.

"But she's the best one we've seen to date," replies the younger of the two men. "She looks a bit like Katniss Everdeen, and her costume is a good imitation of the Jewels of Desire."

"You've only seen the girl and the costume on television," laughs the older man. "How can you arrive at that observation. Marcie is right, we already have two Everdeen lookalikes. Besides, interest in anything to do with the 74th Hunger Games is waning now the next Games are getting nearer."

"Ah! But there will be an Everdeen girl in the 75th Hunger Games," says the young man. "She's the only possible female tribute for District Twelve. What if we can persuade Effie Trinket to let the young Everdeen girl borrow the Jewels of Desire for her televised interview? We'd be onto a winner then."

"But we already have two girls doing that routine," persists Marcie.

"One of whom is ten years too old, and the other has no tits," continues the young man. "I say we give this girl a one week trial. Let the patrons decide on her merits."

"Hmmm. Well, there's no harm in doing that, I suppose," muses the older man. "Okay, you're on a one week trial ... um ... Katie. Minimum rate pay, but you keep any tips that you earn. Do you accept?"

"Er ... Yes, thank you," I reply.

I'm dismissed and told to report for work tonight at nine o'clock. Although I've only just met Juno, I stay for a while to see if she also gets hired. Her routine is quite different from mine. While I try for grace and elegance, Juno goes for playfulness and humour. She seems to hit the right chord with Marcie, and Juno is also hired for a one week trial. Juno and I briefly share our success before we each head to our respective lodgings to get ready for tonight.

Effie is delighted that I've found a job. Unfortunately, neither Effie nor I have any means of contacting Plutarch Heavensbee, but Effie promises to let him know when he next tries to contact us. The rest of my evening is taken up with my preparations for tonight.

"Don't forget the ring," reminds Effie when I check the bag containing my costume and make-up for the twentieth time. I put the emerald ring on my finger, and immediately feel a surge of confidence. The ring's effect is all in my mind, I know, but every little piece of help is most welcome at the moment.

I arrive at the Black Cat in plenty of time and I'm amazed at the size of the crowd already here. According to Juno, the number of patrons should have doubled by the time she and I start our second sessions. We are booked to do six eight minute sessions over six hours. If the patrons like us, then we get four extra sessions tomorrow. Obviously the more sessions we do, the more tips we can earn.

Marcie is the co-ordinator who decides which girls will perform the next few sessions. She is constantly harassed by some of the girls who want their sessions timed for the club's busiest periods. As newcomers, Juno and I find only two of our sessions are scheduled during the club's busiest three hours between ten and one o'clock.

I've no idea how well my first night's performances were regarded. It's four o'clock in the morning and I'm exhausted. On the positive side, I've earned more in tips than I would have earned in a day as a tour guide at the Hunger Games arena. However, I've no means of knowing if what I've earned tonight is a good, bad or indifferent outcome. Juno was released about half and hour ago and I wait patiently for Marcie to confirm my night's work is done. The Black Cat doesn't close at a set time, and keeps open for as long as a reasonable number of clients are still spending money.

"Despite my misgivings this afternoon, your performance has been well received," says Marcie. "You'll get an extra four sessions tomorrow night. Well done. Now, before you go, one of our patrons wants a quick word with you. He's sat in booth number sixteen."

My face drops. I didn't need Juno's warning to remind me that doing this sort of work can attract unwelcome demands from the club's patrons. I had hoped working here would protect me from sexual overtures.

"Don't look so nervous, Katie," says Marcie when she sees my reaction. "He just wants to talk. The Black Cat doesn't allow patrons to make sexual advances to our dancers. Patrons who want those sorts of extra services can go to the Merry Mermaid. You can go home once you've finished your talk. Report for work at nine o'clock tomorrow night."

Marcie's words ease my immediate concerns, although I'm still on edge. I would prefer to change out of my costume before meeting this man, but I guess my newly acquired satin wrap will have to protect my modesty. I find my way to booth number sixteen. I look at the person sat there and have difficulty in working out whether the person is male or female. Marcie said he was a man, but I'm far from certain. He or she is heavily disguised by make-up and an outlandish hat and coat.

"Good evening, Katniss, my dear," says the mysterious person in a voice that doesn't betray gender.

"Katie ... not Katniss," I reply. "I only pretend to be Katniss Everdeen for my performance."

"I think not, but no matter. If you are simply Katie, then my invitation will be of no interest to you. However, Katniss Everdeen would do well to accept the offer in this letter."

I'm handed an envelope addressed to Katniss Everdeen. I don't know whether to open it, or to insist that I'm Katie Deane and hand the envelope back. As it turns out, the decision is made for me when the mysterious person simply stands up and leaves. I sit there for a few moments before deciding that what I really need is a good night's sleep. I change back into my street clothes and travel back to Effie's apartment. Although there's public transport still running at this time of night, I begin to understand the reason behind Plutarch Heavensbee's suggestion that I live closer to work. It's far too easy for me to nod off on my way home, and wake up long after my intended destination.

I manage to sneak into Effie's apartment without waking her. I'm so tired that I immediately go to bed. The mysterious letter can wait until morning. Despite my initial concern about what the letter may say, I'm too exhausted to care at the moment. If my disguise is in danger ... well, in more danger than it is already ... then I would have been arrested and thrown in jail. I fall asleep and don't wake until mid-morning.

Effie has already left for work, but she clearly checked on me before she went out. She's left me a note saying that there's been no word from Plutarch Heavensbee. I find it odd that he hasn't attempted to contact Effie or me to find out about my job interview. He was so insistent on me securing a job that I thought he would want to know the outcome as soon as possible.

I have my breakfast before opening the envelope I was given. I read it several times before deciding it must surely be a hoax. If the letter is to be believed, then President Snow will be coming to the Black Cat tonight to watch me perform. I'm invited to join him at his table during one of my breaks. Surely this is some sort of sick joke. I think about it for a while and finally convince myself that this is a trick being played by one or more of the other girls. Yes ... it's probably an act of jealousy by one or both of the Katniss Everdeen lookalikes.

Unfortunately I've nobody with whom I can discuss this unwelcome development. Effie's note says she'll not be home until late and I've no means of contacting Cato or Heavensbee. It's inconceivable that President Snow would come to the Black Cat expecting to watch the real Katniss Everdeen perform. Besides, why advertise the fact? Warning me of his visit simply gives me time to go into hiding. This must be a trick played by one of the girls at the Black Cat. My best bet is to call the bluff and carry on as though nothing has happened.

I report for work at the club and prepare for my first session. Everybody is acting normally. Even the two Katniss Everdeen lookalikes are behaving as they did yesterday; which is to say, they are completely ignoring me. Marcie tells us our allocated performance sequence for our first two sessions and I get myself ready. The club is already filling up as I mount the stage for my first session. The tips are only modest, but Juno says that it's not unusual for this time of night. Patrons become more generous as the night wears on and the volume of alcohol consumed increases.

After my third session, Marcie informs me that I've a fifty minute break and that I'm invited to go to booth sixteen. It's the same booth as before, and I immediately suspect a trick. But Marcie doesn't strike me as the sort of person to partake in the silly tomfoolery of her employees. So I put on my satin wrap and go to booth sixteen. When I recognise who is sat there my immediate temptation is to run for the door. But two men have moved to stand behind me, blocking any attempt I may make to escape.

"President Snow," I say with as much courage as I can muster.

"Katniss Everdeen. Please sit down. You and I have important things to discuss."


	22. 3-4 Perfect instrument

3-4. Perfect instrument.

I'm trapped with the last person in the world I want to be with. My euphoria at securing a job at the Black Cat evaporates in seconds. I start counting my life expectancy in minutes. Knowing the futility of trying to escape, I steel my nerves and wait for President Snow to make the next move.

"You may be wondering how I come to be sat here talking to you," begins President Snow. I don't give him the satisfaction of a reply even though it's the exact question running through my mind. Who betrayed me?

"You see, Miss Everdeen, I don't trust the Gamemakers," continues President Snow. "Every one of them is ambitious, arrogant and greedy. It's fun to watch them try to outdo each other ... up to a point. They all have their particular weaknesses, of course. Seneca Crane is over confident in his abilities, and his long running feud with Plutarch Heavensbee will eventually destroy them both. The 75th Hunger Games will present me with the opportunity to cleanse the Gamemakers of their rotten core. Am I making sense to you?"

"Not much," I reply with as much courage as I can manage. "I don't see how any of what you've just said relates to me."

"Ah, Miss Everdeen; you surprise me. You have been so clever and brave. In fact, so far you've been the perfect instrument for my grand plan. I'm truly impressed by your ability to survive this long. There is hope that you will succeed in surviving for a good while longer."

I sit stunned for a moment. How can I possibly have been a perfect instrument for President Snow? He, like nearly everyone else, thought I died on the first day of the 74th Hunger Games. Unless ...? His mention of 'hope' gives me a flash of inspiration.

"You are my mysterious sponsor who helped me to escape from the Hunger Games arena! You employed Hope. But why sabotage your own games?"

"Brilliant deduction, Miss Everdeen. My faith in you is justified yet again. Yes, indeed; I'm the one whom you should thank for making your escape possible. I wanted to teach Seneca Crane a lesson in humility. He doesn't know that you and the girl from District Eleven survived the 74th Hunger Games, but I'm making him nervous by continually asking him to produce evidence that you both died in the arena."

A brief moment of joy at the news of Rue's survival breaks my concern at the direction this interview is taking. I wait for President Snow to continue.

"As for Plutarch Heavensbee," resumes President Snow. "I'm sure the man is up to no good. He is dangerous; not only to me, but to you as well. I've given him plenty of rope with which to hang himself by his actions, and he finally seems to have obliged. You should thank me for saving you from his dangerous scheme."

"I know nothing of any scheme that Plutarch Heavensbee is hatching," I reply defensively. "He said that he wanted to reveal my existence so that I can replace my sister Prim as a tribute for the 75th Hunger Games."

"And in doing so embarrass Seneca Crane, and by extension, me. Of course Heavensbee doesn't know that I'm already aware of your continued good health. Nor is he aware that I've no intention of allowing you to enter the 75th Hunger Games arena. Whether your sister does or not depends on your cooperation."

"I don't understand."

"Put simply, Miss Everdeen. Help me now and I'll order that the special rules for the 75th Hunger Games are modified so that the tributes for each district are reaped from those who are victors of previous Hunger Games, or, in the case of the female tribute from District Twelve, are reaped in the usual manner from all of District Twelve's eligible girls. It doesn't guarantee your sister won't be reaped, but the odds will be considerably more in her favour than at present."

"What is it that you want me to do?" I ask feeling both scared and relieved. Scared of what President Snow will expect of me, and relieved that there seems to be an opportunity to save Prim and I from the Hunger Games arena.

"I have a fifteen year old granddaughter, Gillian" says President Snow. "Her parents are under investigation by the judiciary for reasons that don't concern you. Consequently they may become unable to look after Gillian. I need someone I can trust to take care of her."

"But why me?" I ask, risking losing this chance to save Prim and I. "Surely there must be scores of people in the Capitol better qualified for that role."

"Indeed there are," replies President Snow. "But your unique situation means that you are someone whom I can trust. That and your resourcefulness in staying alive makes you a suitable candidate. I should warn you that there are those who would harm my granddaughter just to get at me. I expect you to protect her while she's in your care. You won't like the consequences if any harm should befall her."

"When do you want me to start?" I reply, realising that I've no option but to agree. I need time to think of a way out of this situation. Going along with President Snow's plan for now seems to be the best course of action.

"You will need to be interviewed by my daughter-in-law first. She's Gillian's mother, so you will technically be working for her."

"What if she refuses to hire me?" I ask.

"That's not likely, but we'll cross that bridge if and when we get to it. Whatever happens at the interview, don't let on that you and I have spoken. And you're not to mention a word about our meeting to anybody else. Do you understand? Your sister's life depends on your discretion. Tomorrow, you are to call the job agency in response to this advert."

President Snow hands me a printed copy of a job advertisement from one of the many on-line employment agencies. The job seems easy enough from the brief description in the advertisement, although it doesn't mention that the unnamed teenager in need of a paid companion is related to President Snow.

"What about my false identity?" I ask.

"We'll keep your alias of Katie Deane for now," replies President Snow. "We can discuss your reappearance as Katniss Everdeen another time. Since I don't want you to alert Heavensbee to what is happening until I'm ready, you're to keep on working here until I say that you may stop. I'm sure you are capable of negotiating shorter working hours with the Black Cat's management."

President Snow concludes our discussion and leaves. It takes me a few moments to stop shaking. I'm only surprised that I held my nerve while he was here. My rest break is almost over, so I go backstage and prepare for my next session. After my meeting with President Snow, the rest of the night seems tame by comparison. Profitable though. My tips are nearly double what they were last night thanks to the extra sessions. Juno is more than a little jealous, especially since Marcie didn't grant her extra sessions today.

I debate whether I should tell Effie about my meeting with President Snow. I don't like keeping secrets from Effie, but a careless word to Plutarch Heavensbee could spell Prim's doom ... and probably my own as well. I decide to hold off telling Effie anything until I've had my interview with Mrs. Snow. After all, I might not be given the job despite what President Snow says. I get up early and call the job agency on the telephone. After a difficult conversation I'm finally told to report to the agency this afternoon for an interview with Mrs. Snow.

"You've got a nerve applying for this position," says Mrs. Snow as soon as I arrive for the interview.

She and the pompous woman from the employment agency must have gone to the same charm school. I'm not certain whether it's the fact that I'm a district girl which is causing the problem, or that my current employment is listed as a dancer at the Black Cat night club. Despite the frosty start, the interview continues for over an hour. I suspect Mrs. Snow is just as desperate to find a minder for her daughter as I am to find a more respectable job. It's not that I mind dancing at the Black Cat, it just that isn't what I really want to do.

"In normal circumstances I wouldn't let you within fifty metres of my daughter," says Mrs. Snow. "But these aren't normal circumstances. I will consider your application and let you know my decision tomorrow morning."

I return to Effie's apartment with the faint hope of having secured the job. I check Effie's mail box in the lobby as I enter the building. Inside are several items for Effie and, to my great surprise, a package from Cato addressed to Katie Deane. I resist the temptation to open the package in the lobby, and I wait until I'm inside Effie's apartment. When I open it I'm baffled by the contents. It's an old book. I look for a letter to explain the purpose of the book, but can only find a brief note saying 'Kat. Keep this hidden. Cato'. I study the book for anything special, but eventually decide that it's exactly what it appears to be, an old and very worn picture book about clothing through the ages. I put the book back in the wrapping and hide it among my belongings as Cato instructed. Just because I don't see anything special about Cato's gift, doesn't mean there isn't a good reason why Cato has gone to the trouble of sending it.

I'm about to start getting ready to leave for work at the Black Cat when the telephone rings. To my great surprise it is Cato.

"Hi, princess," says Cato, using his pet name for me.

"Hi, professor," I reply in kind. "Your package arrived."

"Ah, good!" laughs Cato. "You will keep it safe, won't you. I'm coming to the Capitol tomorrow. We'll be in need of that package when I get there."

"How did you manage to get permission to come to the Capitol?" I ask. "What time are you arriving? I've just started a job, but I'll meet you if I can."

"I've a Hunger Games function to attend the day after tomorrow. I'll tell you all about it when I see you. I'll be on the train from District Two which arrives at 3 o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Don't worry if you can't meet me at the railway station. I'll come over to Effie's apartment tomorrow evening."

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow sometime. If you are arriving so soon, why did you post the package to me? You could have brought it with you."

"Ah! But then you wouldn't be wondering about the purpose of the package's contents," says Cato.

"It's a picture book," I say. "An old one. There's not much you can do with an old book which is so battered you can hardly read it."

"Indeed, it is a book," laughs Cato. "It's a very special one. You'll find out tomorrow if you can't guess in the meantime."

"Cato! You can be the most infuriating person I know," I reply.

"Yes, I know," says Cato. "It's one of those things about me that you like. Now, please can I talk to Effie. I'll see you tomorrow, princess."

I say goodbye to Cato and hand the telephone to Effie. She and Cato talk for less then a minute before Effie hangs up.

"You have obviously made an impression on that young man," says Effie. "His arrival will add more complications to our current situation though."

"How so?" I ask.

"He wants to lodge here for a few days," says Effie.

"But there are only two bedrooms," I say.

"He can sleep on the couch if you want," replies Effie. "Although he asked me if I am okay with him sharing your room."

"Really!?" I say, dumbfounded. "What a cheek! He could at least have asked me first. What did you tell him?"

Effie doesn't answer, and I quickly realise she has clearly given Cato the green light. The ultimate decision will be mine, though. It's fortunate that tomorrow night is my night off work.

His arrival means that I must decide about my relationship with Cato. Our brief passionate interludes until now have been dictated by our respective situations. Discussion about a long term relationship has never really entered into our conversations since, until now, that seemed impossible. Now I need to think about the future. As I review my feelings I come to realise that I'm strongly attracted to Cato. Sure, he can be bossy and arrogant at times, and, like tonight, he can be infuriating. But he understands my emotions, and in time I think we can become a perfect match for each other. I don't know how I'm going to handle his tendency to act as though he's my lord and master. That's undoubtedly a product of being a Hunger Games' victor and his Career training. His attitude towards me will need some work on my part.


	23. 3-5 Companion

3-5. Companion

Next morning, I don't have long to wait before the telephone rings and Mrs. Snow advises me that she'll give me a three week trial as her daughter's companion. She wants me to start work tomorrow but she would like me to come to her apartment this morning for an hour, so that I can be introduced to her daughter. I accept her offer and I agree to meet her at eleven o'clock. Fortunately her address is only a short walk from Effie's apartment. I had expected it to be in the exclusive quarter of the Capitol where most of the rich and important people live.

I'm admitted into the Snow's apartment. It's a modest suite of rooms, similar in size to Effie's apartment. It is comfortable and well furnished, but there's nothing like the opulence I had expected of President Snow's kin. Mrs. Snow seems to be in a much better mood this morning. it's as though a huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

"Come in Miss Deane," says Mrs. Snow. "Please make yourself comfortable. Gillian won't be long. She is very excited that you are to be her companion. In fact, it is her enthusiasm which has persuaded me to give you a trial."

"Katniss!" comes a squeal of excitement from the door.

Mrs. Snow and I turn to look at the girl standing in the doorway. It doesn't initially register in my mind that she called me by my real name. She's dressed in an outfit more commonly seen in the districts than in the fashion conscious Capitol. She could be mistaken for a district girl if it wasn't for her immaculately groomed and beautifully decorated hair.

"Come and meet Miss Deane, Gillian," says her mother. "And her name isn't Katniss. It's Katie. Besides, you refer to her as Miss Deane. You'll have to forgive her, Miss Deane. She saw your photograph on your job application and convinced herself that you're that Hunger Games tribute from District Six who disappeared while trying to escape from the arena."

"I'd prefer it if you would both call me Katie," I say as I shake Gillian's hand. I don't bother correcting Mrs. Snow's mistake about my home district. "It's nice to meet you, Gillian. Shouldn't you be in school today?"

"Gillian is home-schooled for her safety," replies Mrs. Snow. "Unfortunately tutors have been hard to find and I shall need to rely on your help for the time being. Now, if you don't mind, I will leave you and Gillian alone for half an hour. It will give you a chance to get to know each other better and enable me to go out and attend to a few things. Please be careful should anyone come to the door. We live in constant fear that Gillian may be kidnapped."

Her comment doesn't surprise me after President Snow's warning. I always thought that he was firmly in control of the Capitol, but he clearly has enemies. Some of whom must have escaped from the notorious purges conducted by President Snow. I wonder if Plutarch Heavensbee is among them. What better symbol of resistance than kidnapping the granddaughter of their president.

Mrs. Snow doesn't wait for my reply. She grabs a bag placed by the front door and leaves with only the most perfunctory goodbye to Gillian and I. Gillian doesn't seem to mind, and her lack of concern at her mother's rapid departure suggests Mrs. Snow's behaviour isn't unexpected. I suddenly feel as though I've been given a huge extra responsibility.

"Does your mother disappear like that very often?" I ask Gillian once Mrs. Snow has left.

"Sometimes. She goes out when she can, but lately she's been worried about my safety and she has rarely left me alone. I sometimes stay with Mrs. Forest next door if ma needs to go somewhere urgently. Ma must trust you for her to leave me with you like this. It will give her a chance to sort out whatever trouble she is facing."

"What sort of trouble do you mean?" I ask.

"I don't know for certain. She's been very jumpy for the last few weeks; ever since dad went away. There have been strange telephone calls in the night and I'm sure there is someone watching our apartment building."

While Gillian's story sounds a bit fanciful, I'm cautious enough to look out of the window to the street below. I see Mrs. Snow leave the building and cross the street. There are a few people about on the street, but nothing obviously suspicious. Gillian comes to stand beside me.

"Do you see the man or woman you believe is watching you?" I ask, giving Gillian's story the benefit of doubt.

"Yes," replies Gillian after a few moments. "The man standing in the doorway of the boarded up shop over there. He or another man are there every day."

I see who she means and watch the man carefully. There's nothing to suggest he is watching the Snow's apartment, but that doesn't mean he isn't. When he starts to follow Mrs. Snow's route, I realise Gillian's suspicions may have some substance after all. But who has sent him to spy on the Snow's apartment? I doubt it is the peacekeepers, or whatever official agency is investigating Gillian's parents, since they could order her parents to wear trackers if they wanted to keep an eye on their movements.

There is nothing I can do about the unwelcome watcher until Mrs. Snow returns. I shall ask her about the man when she does. I'm risking enough as it is without the added danger of a kidnapping … or worse. But we seem safe enough for the moment. Gillian and I spend our time together talking and generally getting to know each other. She keeps calling me Katniss, and I constantly have to correct her. It's disconcerting that she seems to know who I really am.

I'm pleased to discover that she is nothing like her obnoxious grandfather. Until recently she has enjoyed a comfortable life. Fortunately she hasn't been corrupted by her grandfather's politics. In some respects she looks up to me ... or at least, Katniss Everdeen, Hunger Games tribute ... as a role model. I'm not certain I'm the sort of person anybody should aspire to imitate.

It is approaching two o'clock and Mrs. Snow is over two hours late. I will need to leave for the railway station soon if I'm going to meet Cato off the train. Gillian is also starting to worry about her mother's failure to return.

"Has your mother been this late before?" I ask.

"No. Never. She rarely goes out, and when she does she always returns on time. Do you think something might have happened to her?"

"It's a bit early to start thinking that. Perhaps whatever she went to do is taking longer than she expected. Do you know what was in the case she took with her?"

"Clothes and personal belongings," replies Gillian. "She always keeps a packed bag by the front door in case we need to leave the apartment quickly."

I could ask Gillian why her mother would want to take her personal belongings with her if she was only going to be out for half an hour. But such a question would only alarm Gillian further. I have a horrible feeling that Mrs. Snow has no intention of returning. My immediate thought is that she's decided to flee, and has abandoned her daughter into my care. I've no proof that is what has happened, but my instincts tell me that I'm right.

"Listen, Gillian. I need to go and meet someone. I can't leave you here on your own. How about you come with me? We can leave a message for your mother should she come home before we return."

"What about the man watching the apartment?" asks Gillian. "Won't he follow us?"

I take a look out of the window and see the man who was there earlier is once again standing in the shop doorway. His reappearance puzzles me. Does it mean that he expects Mrs. Snow is going to return soon, or has something more sinister happened to her.

"We shall leave by the service door at the rear," I say, hoping that door isn't under surveillance.

Gillian's eyes light up at the prospect of sneaking out of the building and going somewhere with me. I get her to put on a hat to disguise her features. Her beautiful coiffure is at odds with the plain district-style outfit she is wearing. I write a short note in case Mrs. Snow returns, avoiding any mention of where we are going. It would be pointless evading our watcher only to tell him where to find us in the event that he breaks into the apartment.

"Do you have a packed bag of belongings?" I ask Gillian.

"Yes. Should I bring it?"

"Yes. Until we know what has happened to your mother, I think we should be prepared for any contingency."

Five minutes later we are winding our way along a series of back alleys. I scan our surroundings as we walk and I feel confident we have made our escape without being noticed. We join one of the main thoroughfares about half a kilometre from the Snow's apartment and we manage to arrive at the railway station with ten minutes to spare.

"What if we are asked to produce our identity cards?" asks Gillian, looking at a pair of patrolling security guards.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "Don't you have your identity card with you?"

"Yes. But I'm not allowed to be here. Ma said the peacekeepers have prohibited her and I from being inside any transport hub in case we try to flee the Capitol. If the security guards check our IDs then I'm in big trouble."

"Don't draw attention to yourself and we will be fine," I say.

If I was being a responsible person I would take Gillian out of the railway station at once, but I don't want to risk missing Cato. Fortunately there's no sign that anybody's identity is being checked. My biggest fear is that Gillian may act suspiciously and draw the guards' attention towards us.

"Take a deep breath and act as though you have every right to be here," I say as Gillian calms her initial alarm.

Once I'm satisfied Gillian isn't going to do anything reckless, I take her hand and we walk towards the designated waiting area on the platform where Cato's train is due to arrive. The security guards watch us pass by their check point but they don't stop us. The look of relief of Gillian's face almost gives us away.

Cato's train arrives a few minutes later. I concentrate on looking for him among the crowd of disembarking passengers. Finally I see him and shout out his name. Unfortunately my voice is drowned by the surrounding noise. The train was crowded and everyone seems to be in a hurry to leave the station. I grab Gillian's hand and pull her through the sea of people on a converging course with Cato. Finally Cato hears me calling his name and he turns towards us. His sudden change of direction catches the jostling crowd around him unprepared and causes a few people to collide into each other. One man stumbles and is nearly trampled. Cato is helping the stricken man to stand when Gillian and I reach him.

"Hello, princess," says Cato.

"Hello, professor," I reply.

The man Cato has been helping looks at the three of us as though he is trying to remember where he's seen each of us before. The man decides he doesn't recognise Cato or me. Then he looks at Gillian.

"Hey! You're the young Snow girl," he says in recognition. "President Snow's granddaughter."

It's impossible to tell whether the man is pleased or angry at his discovery. My immediate concern is that he has announced his discovery in a loud voice in order to be heard over the noise around us. Gillian freezes like a deer caught in a bright light. Several people around us have overheard and have stopped to see for themselves.

The last thing we need is a disturbance around us. I can see two security guards walking our way. They are obviously coming to investigate the sudden interruption to the normal flow of people.

"We need to leave," I say to Cato as quietly as possible. "Now!"

"No problem," replies Cato calmly.

Cato quickly identifies the quickest route away from the crowd around us. He links arms with Gillian and I, and marches the three of us through the loose cordon of people near us. Moments later we are clear of crowd, but unfortunately we still have two security guards on our tail.

"We can't risk an identity check in here," I say to Cato, in case he is planning to simply stop and let the security guards scan our identity cards.

Cato doesn't argue, and he picks up the pace as we cross the large concourse towards the station exit. I'm so busy trying to keep an eye of the security guards trailing us that I fail to see the two guards ahead of us until it is too late. We are trapped. Moments later the three of us are cornered by no fewer than seven security guards.

"Let's see your identity cards," orders one of the guards.

We each hand our identity card to the guard. Gillian looks terrified, but, to her credit, doesn't panic. The security guard scans our cards into his machine.


	24. 3-6 Missing parent

3-6. Missing parent.

"Everything is in order," the security guard announces after what seems like an eternity. "Sorry to have detained you. Have a nice day."

He returns our cards and we leave the area as quickly as possible. He and his fellow guards look disappointed at being denied their bonus for catching lawbreakers.

"I don't understand," says Gillian. "I'm not allowed to be at the railway station. Why didn't the guard arrest me?"

"I don't know, but let's not worry about that now," I reply. "We need to take you back to your apartment. Your mother may have returned by now."

"Our meetings are never dull, princess," says Cato. "I don't know what is going on, but I'll come with you."

I retrace our earlier route back to the apartment, briefing Cato on our situation as we walk. Fortunately Gillian knows the door code to get in through the service door. Cato must think it strange that we are entering the Snow's apartment by the back entrance, but he holds his curiosity in check for now. I make Cato and Gillian wait in the stairwell while I check that the apartment is clear.

There's no sign that Mrs. Snow has returned and everything is exactly where it was when Gillian and I left. Even the tiny bits of paper I placed in the kitchen and bedroom door jambs are still in place. Had anybody opened one of those doors, the paper would have fallen to the ground and left a tell-tale sign. I risk a quick peek through the blinds at the street below. I see the man, looking very bored, standing where he was when Gillian and I left. I give Cato and Gillian the all clear signal.

"Mrs. Snow hasn't returned and the apartment is still being watched," I say.

"Something must have happened to ma," replies Gillian, clearly worried at this turn of events.

"Is there anybody she may have gone to if she needed help and was unable to return here?" I ask.

"Nobody I know about," replies Gillian. "Ma isn't the most popular person in the Capitol at the moment."

"Could she have tried to flee the Capitol?" asks Cato.

"Not without help," I say. "If what Gillian says is correct, then she would need a false identify card if she wanted to purchase any form of travel ticket and get through the checkpoints."

"Hmmm ... A false identity card might not be necessary," muses Cato. "Disabling or altering the peacekeepers database would allow her to use her own identity card to travel out of the Capitol. Perhaps that is why the scan of Gillian's card didn't trigger an alert."

"Ma wouldn't leave the Capitol without me," says Gillian with a degree of confidence I wish I could share.

"I'm sure your mother will be in touch soon," I say in a weak attempt to reassure Gillian. She isn't the only one who is anxious to see Mrs. Snow return soon.

"What's troubling you Katniss?" asks Cato when he sees my concern. "Mrs. Snow hasn't been gone long enough for us to involve the peacekeepers."

I persuade Gillian that Cato and I need some time alone. Of course, it only reinforces her conviction that I'm Katniss Everdeen, even if she didn't notice Cato's careless use of my real name. Nevertheless, it gives me the chance to explain things to Cato in more detail, including my job at the Black Cat club. I don't mention my conversation with President Snow though. I trust Cato, but he isn't always the most careful of people, and Prim's life is at risk.

"The Black Cat!" says Gillian who has obviously been listening to our conversation. "I've been there."

"Really? You're too young to be admitted into a night club," I say, dubious about Gillian's claim, even though she's only a couple of years younger than me.

"Grandfather took me to the Black Cat club last month," replies Gillian. "He introduced me to several people and told me I was to go to the Black Cat should I find myself alone. But he made me promise not to tell ma and pa."

"A bolt hole," muses Cato. "Who are the people you met? Have you seen any of them since then?"

"I don't know their real names," replies Gillian. "I've not seen any of them outside the club. Ma has been with me until today, so I've never needed to go back to the Black Cat."

"What about Marcie?" I ask. "The woman who manages the dancers at the club. Did you meet her?"

"No," says Gillian. "Grandfather said I should keep clear of her."

"Then how are you supposed to make contact with anyone at the Black Cat?" asks Cato.

"I'm not allowed to tell anybody," says Gillian. "Grandfather made me swear an oath of secrecy."

"That's okay, Gillian," I say before Cato starts demanding that she answer his question when she clearly doesn't want to say.

"Well, it gives us another option," says Cato. "We can stay here; go to Effie's apartment; or we could take Gillian to the Black Cat. Maybe somebody there knows what has happened to Mrs. Snow."

"That could put Gillian in even more danger," I say. "Until we know what is going on, I don't think it's wise to allow Gillian to mingle with potentially dangerous strangers."

"I want to go to the Black Cat," says Gillian. "It's what I was told to do in the event I was left alone."

"You aren't alone," I say. "Your mother entrusted me with your care. We need to think carefully before we act. We could be putting you in more danger."

"Gillian's already in danger simply because of who she is," replies Cato. "We don't know why Mrs. Snow hasn't returned. Staying here any longer is pointless, and taking her to Effie's apartment may be just as dangerous. Besides, I want to see this club where you work. Gillian is only a couple of years younger than you, so she could pass for seventeen in the dark."

"They check your identity card before you can enter the club," I reply. "How do we get around that problem?"

"Gillian said there was a way for her to contact the people she needs to meet inside the club," says Cato. "If necessary, we can sneak her in while nobody is looking."

Gillian nods in agreement, but still refuses to say how she's supposed to reach the people she should meet. Unfortunately, I can't come up with a better plan. Time is against us and I resign myself to following Cato's plan. The three of us sneak out the back entrance of the Snow's apartment and make our way to the Black Cat.

Our plan immediately hits a major problem when we arrive at the Black Cat. I enter the club first in order to check everything is alright. It's still quite early, so the Black Cat isn't very busy. Unfortunately Marcie sees me and promptly calls me over. It seems some of tonight's dancers have been arrested during a peacekeeper raid on a rowdy party. Marcie is in need of replacements at short notice. A replacement like me. She draws my attention to the clause in my contract which says I must work whatever extra hours the club's management demands. It means giving up my night off, but at least it will give me a legitimate reason to be inside the club tonight. I can hopefully find out what we need to know.

I go back to where Cato and Gillian are waiting and explain what has happened. There's just enough time to get to Effie's apartment and back before I'm due to start work. When we reach the apartment, we find that Effie is still at work. It means we don't have the opportunity to leave Gillian with Effie; not that Gillian is likely to cooperate with that option in any case. I pick up my costume and make-up. The three of us grab a quick bite to eat and leave a short message for Effie before we return to the Black Cat.

The club only admits members, which Cato isn't. It means he and Gillian will both need to be smuggled into the club. Fortunately, Gillian decides to reveal the special way to enter the club that President Snow has provided for her. She produces an unmarked plastic card which she shows to the staff at the door. The man places the card in his scanner and then hands it back to Gillian. Despite its nondescript appearance, the card secures entrance into the Black Cat for Cato and Gillian.

The club is much busier than when I came earlier. Once I'm satisfied that Cato and Gillian are safely seated in one of the booths, I go to the changing room to prepare for my first session.

More patrons enter the club as I perform my dance routine. It's going to be a busy night. Soon there are no empty tables and most of the booth's are occupied. The bright stage lights prevent me from seeing how many people are watching my performance from the fringes of the room. I follow my usual routine and I'm rewarded with some generous tips. Afterwards I leave the stage to freshen up before I go to join Cato and Gillian. I've forty minutes before my next session.

"Not bad for ten minutes work, princess," says Cato when I tell him how much I've earned in tips.

"Is there anybody or anything you recognise in here," I ask Gillian.

"No," she replies. "When grandfather brought me here we went to a different part of the building. Somewhere on the other side of the bar, I think."

"I'll take a look," says Cato, getting up as though he about to use the rest room.

"Is it possible that your mother came here earlier today?" I ask Gillian.

"I don't think she knows about grandfather's connections at the Black Cat," replies Gillian.

Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of a middle aged woman who promptly sits down next to me. I'm about to protest about the intrusion but Gillian clearly knows the woman. On closer inspection, I recognise her too; she's the person with the flamboyant clothing who handed me President Snow's letter the other night.

"You shouldn't have come here, Gillian," says the woman. "Forget your grandfather's instructions. Things have changed."

"This is my companion," says Gillian by way of introducing me, not realising that the woman already knows me.

"An exotic dancer for a minder!" replies the woman as though I'm beneath her notice. "What strange times we live in. No matter. What brings you here tonight, Gillian?"

"My mother has gone missing," says Gillian to the woman.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't surprise me," replies the woman. "Hopefully she has gone into hiding like your father. The alternatives don't bear thinking about. Their enemies are becoming impatient and they may be getting ready to do something drastic."

"Why are these people after my mother?" asks Gillian.

"A very large sum of money has gone missing. There's no evidence, but the general consensus is that your parents know the whereabouts of that money. It's why they are under investigation. There are several people … your grandfather among them … who would like to get their hands that money. It's become a sort of winner-take-all treasure hunt."

"But ma doesn't have any money," says Gillian. "Certainly not the sort of money you are implying."

"I'm sure you're right," says the woman. "But I'm equally sure that your parents know something about what happened to it."

"Is Gillian in any danger?" I ask.

"Possibly," says the woman. "Who knows? Large sums of money can make people take big risks. If you really want to protect Gillian, I suggest you keep her away from places like this. If possible, get her out of the Capitol."

"Can you help us?" I ask.

"Not at the moment, but I'll be here again tomorrow night if you still need help. Now, I must return to my friends before they become suspicious about my absence."

The woman leaves as silently as she arrived. Cato returns as soon as she is out of sight. He was watching our conversation from the shadows.

"You two mix with some interesting people," says Cato. "Do you know who that was?"

"Egeria Wolfe," replies Gillian. "She's my grandfather's speech writer and personal assistant. She's been a good friend to my parents over the years. I think she will help us if she can."

I'm not so certain. Egeria Wolfe didn't seem to know about President Snow asking me to be Gillian's minder. Unless she was only pretending not to know me.

"Did you find out anything on the other side of the bar?" I ask Cato.

"There's a double door leading to another room. The door is guarded by two heavies," says Cato.

"Now that we've met with one of Gillian's contacts, I think you had best take Gillian out of here," I say. "We don't know enough about what is happening to tell friend from enemy at the moment."


	25. 3-7 Trust

7\. Trust.

"Egeria wasn't one of those grandfather told me to seek out," replies Gillian. "I don't know why she's here tonight. She's not the sort of person I would have expected to see in here."

"Leaving now isn't a good idea in any case," says Cato. "Gillian won't be any safer outside. She and I got in here without showing our identity cards. If anybody is looking for Gillian they may not think to look for her in here. We should wait until you have finished work."

Cato's suggestion has merit. It would be safer if Gillian left here with both Cato and I to watch over her. It'll soon be time for my second session, so I leave Cato and Gillian at the booth, and return to the dressing room. As I prepare for my session, I reflect on what Egeria said. Why did she tell Gillian to ignore her grandfather's instructions? Surely President Snow would have told me if that was the case. He must have anticipated me bringing Gillian to the Black Cat if his daughter-in-law went missing. Something isn't quite right with what Egeria said to Gillian.

With so few dancers here tonight, my sessions are soon done. Even when Marcie makes me do two extra sessions, I still finish by one-thirty. I don't get paid for the extra sessions, but the additional tips make it worth my while. The steady flow of patrons through the club means that there are plenty of new customers willing to provide tips. As the night wears on the patrons become more intoxicated and rowdy. Unlike the previous two nights, the club's heavies are having their work cut out to keep everybody in order. I begin to wish Cato had taken Gillian out of here earlier, but I'm equally glad that he's here to support me. My tips from tonight amount to a tidy sum. Enough to tempt a potential robber.

Marcie says I may leave after my one-thirty session. The club is still quite busy, but fortunately a new trio of dancers have arrived to entertain the patrons throughout the rest of the night. I look for Juno but I'm told that she's one of the girls arrested by the peacekeepers. I change into my street clothes and join Cato and Gillian at their booth. Unfortunately Gillian hasn't been contacted by any of the people she was expecting to find here. She insists that she's given the correct coded signals which indicate she wants help. As she stands up to leave, I notice how the lights from the stage reflect against her hair.

"What's that in your hair which reflects the light?" I ask.

"It's something that ma's new hairdresser put in my hair when he came to our apartment the other day. It's uncomfortable and I don't know how to get it out of my hair."

"It's some form of metal mesh," says Cato when he takes a closer look. "Effie may know how to remove it. There's nothing we can do about it here. Come on, let's go."

We work our way towards the main door, keeping close together and watching out for anybody who may want to prevent us from leaving. It's not just Gillian who is at risk. I'm carrying the priceless Jewels of Desire, and a large sum of money secreted on me. We are prime targets for robbers should anybody want to try their luck.

But robbers aren't my immediate challenge. A few men sat near the door recognise me as one of tonight's dancers despite my change of clothes. They make suggestive remarks as I pass near them. In other circumstances I might have found their comments funny. In their current inebriated state I doubt any of them are capable of performing the acts they are suggesting. Unfortunately their ribaldry only draws other people's attention towards me and we are soon having to push our way through an over-enthusiastic crowd.

We make it out of the club without further mishap. As we walk away I notice we have a group of four men following us. Cato notices them as well. We make a couple of side turns to verify our suspicions. They doggedly keep on our trail.

"Are those men following us?" asks Gillian.

"It seems so," I reply. "We'll take a few more turns and shake them off. After today's events I don't want any more people than necessary knowing where you are staying."

"Aren't you taking me back to my apartment?" asks Gillian. "What if ma has returned and she's worried about me?"

"I don't think your apartment will be safe for you tonight," I reply. "It's unlikely your mother will go back there at the moment."

After a few more turns, and a scramble over a wooden fence, we finally lose the men tailing us. We then head to Effie's apartment as quickly as can. Cato isn't the quietest of people when it comes to stealthily entering a building and Effie wakes when we arrive.

"This is Gillian Snow," I say to Effie. "President Snow's granddaughter. She needs to stay with us for a while. Her mother disappeared this morning."

"Yes, okay," says Effie, quickly hiding her surprise at her unexpected guest . "Hello Gillian. Let's make up a bed for you on the couch."

"Effie, will you have a look at Gillian's hair?" I ask. "She has some form of steel mesh wrapped in it which she doesn't know how to remove."

Effie takes a look, and uses her considerable skill with the strange fashions of the Capitol to assess the problem. After a short while manages to work out how to remove the mesh without ruining the rest of Gillian's decorative hairdo. She studies the mesh before handing it to me.

"It's not designed to be worn all the time," says Effie. "See. There's a series of fasteners which enable it to be fitted and removed. I thought I was current with the latest fashion trends, but I've not seen this sort of adornment before. When were you given this piece, Gillian?"

"Tuesday evening," replies Gillian. "Ma arranged for her hairdresser to come and fit it. She didn't tell me it could be removed."

That means it was fitted after my job interview with Mrs. Snow. I suspect that the timing is not a coincidence. Unfortunately it probably means that Mrs. Snow's disappearance was planned. Cato comes over to examine the mesh now it has been removed from Gillian's hair.

"It's not made of steel," he says. "See how each strand reflects the light like a mirror. Steel wouldn't shine so brightly. And the mesh doesn't weigh as much as it would if it was made of steel. It must be made of some new compound. It could be valuable."

Gillian is very tired and Effie halts further discussion while she helps Gillian make up her bed on the couch. With Gillian occupying Effie's couch, I suddenly realise that Cato has nowhere to sleep; other than sharing my bed. I suddenly feel awkward. As always, I get very aroused when dancing in the Jewels of Desire, and tonight has been no exception. I'm more than happy for Cato to be the one to help me relieve the pent up urges that have been brewing inside me. It just that …

"Stop dithering, Katniss," says Cato in a firm tone. "Get undressed and into bed."

I'm practically naked before it dawns on me that Cato is bossing me around. He did this occasionally when he came to visit me at the arena. I had resolved to put him in his place, and now I'm doing the exact opposite. I reach for my nightgown, but Cato prevents me from putting it on.

"Not tonight, Katniss," says Cato. "I'm here to keep you warm."

He kisses me and I melt into his arms. Katniss the hunter; Katniss the warrior; Katniss the survivor, all evaporate into thin air and only Katniss the sex kitten remains.

The bone-weariness I was feeling when we arrived at Effie's apartment soon fades under Cato's careful and intimate attentions. I begin to feel more alive despite the dangers we face. It is almost like being back in Hunger Games arena. My every sense is alert and responsive. Cato doesn't waste time with foreplay and senses my need to move onto the main course. This is Cato at his best. It's what attracts me to him. Sure, he's good looking and can be both witty and serious. But more importantly, he instinctively knows what to do to satisfy my desires. He knows when to be the dominant male; when to treat me as his equal; and when to defer to my lead. Once our passion is sated we both fall asleep in each others arms. We are still entwined when we wake to the smell of cooking the next morning.

Despite the prospect of filling our empty bellies, neither of us is in a rush to get dressed. We kiss and caress each other for a while. I know I complain about Cato being bossy and that he orders me about. But there have only been a few times when I've actually minded his arrogant attitude. It's as though his normally excellent sense of my real needs has been slightly askew on those occasions. Perhaps with practise we can iron out those minor imperfections.

While I know why I'm attracted to Cato, I've no idea what attracts him to me. I'm not so naïve as to think that I'm the only girl he's taken to bed. I know for a fact that he's dallied with other girls since becoming the victor of the 74th Hunger Games. There's been enough television coverage of his adoring female conquests. And he was no virgin when he and I first made out during the 74th Hunger Games training week.

"Come on lazy bones," says Cato. "Time to get dressed or we'll miss breakfast."

I look at my watch on the bedside table. It's nearly nine o'clock; not particularly late given it was nearly three o'clock when we went to bed, but Effie will have left for work and Gillian will be alone. My feeling of responsibility towards her takes over and I quickly get dressed. Cato does likewise.

"Good morning, Gillian," I say as I enter the main room. "Is there any breakfast left?"

"Good morning, Katniss," she replies, persisting in using my real name when we are alone. "You'll need to make something fresh. Effie and I ate our breakfast an hour ago."

"I'll make us something," says Cato. "You had better check that we haven't acquired any unwelcome watchers overnight."

"I've already checked," says Gillian. "There's nobody outside."

"You should have waited for us before checking," I say.

"I was careful," says Gillian. "I've had a lot of practise at checking for watchers."

"We should check the television news in case their any word about Gillian's mother," says Cato as he hands me bowl of cereal and glass of fruit juice. If I want a cooked breakfast then I'm obviously going to have to make it myself.

We sit through the news broadcast while we eat breakfast. There's nothing about Mrs. Snow's disappearance, but there's a short interview with Plutarch Heavensbee in an item relating to the 75th Hunger Games. According to the report, Heavensbee is at the secret site for the Games. That may explain why he's not been in touch with Effie and I.

"Once the peacekeepers realise Gillian's mother is missing they'll start looking for both Gillian and her mother," I say. "Records of yesterday's identity check at the railway station will lead the peacekeepers to me, this apartment, and the Black Cat. Time isn't on our side. Whatever we decide to do, we need to do it soon."

We discuss several options, but we are always drawn back to the Black Cat. Not only is there a potential source of help at the Black Cat, but it seems some of the answers to the mystery of Mrs. Snow's disappearance may be there too. By lunchtime we've agreed that the three of us should return to the Black Cat this evening. I would have to go there anyway, since I'm due to work at the Black Cat tonight. Hopefully this afternoon's Hunger Games function, which summoned Cato to the Capitol, will be over by then. I don't like the prospect of having to leave Gillian unattended at the Black Cat despite her insistence that Egeria Wolfe will protect her.

"Ah! While I remember," says Cato. "The book! Go and fetch it, princess."

"At once, my master," I reply sarcastically. Cato has reverted to his annoying arrogant attitude. Still, I do as he asks without further complaint. He has succeeded in making me curious about the purpose of the book.

Cato carefully opens the book so as to prevent it from falling apart. He finds the page he is looking for and turns the book towards me.

"What do you think of that?" says Cato.

I look at the page in amazement. "She's wearing the Jewels of Desire," I say.


	26. 3-8 Family reunion

8\. Family reunion.

"Or a costume very like it," says Cato. "The main difference is the headdress."

"We must show Effie when she gets home," I say. "The woman in the picture could be her great-aunt Sophie."

"We could make a headdress like the one in the picture from the mesh you took out of my hair," suggests Gillian.

I have my doubts, but if it stops Gillian from moping about her missing mother, then I'm happy to at least try. Cato leaves Gillian and I to our efforts while he heads off to the function he must attend.

Despite Gillian's enthusiasm, neither of us can fashion a passable imitation of the headdress in the picture. Fortunately Effie arrives home early and soon corrects our mistakes. I'm amazed at the outcome. What we've created is not so much a headdress as a decorated hairstyle which is a distant cousin of Gillian's fancy hairdo.

"Now you look like a Capitol girl, Katniss," says Effie.

I'm sure Effie means it as a compliment, but I've always been proud of being a district girl. Gillian's delight at the finished product stops me from complaining. I must admit that my decorated hair will go nicely with my costume.

"Is the woman in the picture your great-aunt Sophie?" I ask Effie when we are finished.

"No," replies Effie. "And I doubt the costume is the real Jewels of Desire. There were several imitations of her costume and act. You said that you have your imitators as well."

I understand what Effie means. Fortunately Marcie avoids scheduling my sessions directly before or after one of the other dancers wearing a fake Jewels of Desire costume. They are good dancers, but I have the edge on costume and, of course, being the real Katniss Everdeen.

Cato returns about half an hour before Gillian and I need to leave for the Black Cat. He obviously has news he wants to share with us, but the sight of my hairdo leaves him speechless for a few moments. Finally he finds his tongue.

"Plutarch Heavensbee has disappeared," says Cato. "That television interview we watched was recorded a couple of weeks ago. Some of the Gamemakers think he's fled to District Thirteen."

"But District Thirteen doesn't exist any more," I reply.

"It seems as though it does. From what I can piece together, Heavensbee has been plotting with the leaders of District Thirteen to overthrow President Snow. But he's been found out and he's taken refuge in Thirteen. At least that's what Seneca Crane says."

"Hmmm. That might not be true," I say, recalling what both Plutarch Heavensbee and President Snow have told me. "There's no love lost between Seneca Crane and Plutarch Heavensbee. Does it mean we are in even more danger?"

"I don't think so," replies Cato. "I can't see how it involves us."

"Egeria will know," says Gillian with confidence. "She said she would help us if we returned to the Black Cat tonight."

I wish there was an alternative. I don't trust Egeria Wolfe, but she's the only link we have to Mrs. Snow's disappearance. The longer we wait, the more complicated and dangerous the situation becomes.

Cato and Gillian gain access to the Black Cat with Gillian's special card. I report to Marcie once I'm satisfied Cato and Gillian are sat at one of the more visible tables. There will be no sitting in discreet booths tonight. I want Gillian to be visible to as many witnesses as possible to deter any kidnapping attempt. There's no sign of Egeria so far. Booth sixteen, which Egeria said we were to go to if we wanted help, is empty.

Over the next hour the club starts to fill up. Juno arrives, along with the other dancers who were detained by the peacekeepers last night. When I ask Juno what happened, she laughs as though the whole episode was part of everyday life in the Capitol. It's going to be another busy night and I'm glad there are more dancers tonight.

I finish my second session to rapturous applause. My new hairdo is definitely paying dividends. My tips are much larger even though the night is still young. I walk close to booth sixteen on my way back to Cato and Gillian's table. The booth is occupied, but the people in it have turned down the lights. It's not an uncommon practise, enabling the occupants to see without being seen.

"Did you see who entered booth sixteen," I ask Cato and Gillian when I reach their table.

"No," replies Cato. "We were distracted."

"I wasn't," says Gillian proudly. "The red-head with the split dress might have gained your attention, Cato, but I've been watching booth sixteen all night. Two men entered it just before you came on stage. I couldn't make out their features. They were wearing oversized coats and floppy hats. They clearly want to remain anonymous."

From Gillian's description it sounds like the same outfit Egeria wore when she delivered President Snow's message to me. It's possible that one of the people is Egeria, but who is her companion? I suppose there's only one way to find out. One of us will have to go to booth sixteen to find out; and I'm the obvious choice. Dancers doing the rounds of the tables and booths between sessions is not unusual. It's a good way to earn extra tips, but it usually implies that you're available for other entertainment of a personal and intimate nature. Consequently I haven't followed some of the other girls' example until now. I stop at booth sixteen and breathe a sigh of relief when I realise one of the occupants is Egeria. I also recognise her companion; Flavius Brock, owner of the Lone Wolf night club. I'm puzzled by his appearance here tonight. Perhaps he's spying on the competition. Neither of them seems pleased to see me but they don't send me away.

"Bring Gillian to us and we'll get her to safety," says Egeria.

"Not until I know what is going on," I reply. "I'm not handing her over to anybody unless I'm convinced that she's going to be safe."

"Don't you know who I am?" replies Egeria with contempt. "President Snow will boil you in oil if you endanger his granddaughter's life."

"Which is precisely why I'm not letting you take Gillian until you answer my questions."

"Just take Gillian, Egeria," says Flavius. "She'll come with you without creating a fuss. We can't sit here all night arguing with this district nobody."

Flavius restrains me as Egeria leaves the booth. She doesn't get very far, though. She, Flavius and I are immediately surrounded by dark suited men who have all the appearance of undercover peacekeepers. I take a quick look towards the table where Cato and Gillian are sat and see that they too are being detained by similarly clad men.

Despite the dozen or so men escorting the five of us from the main area of the club, none of the patrons makes any attempt to intervene. I doubt more than a handful even notice what is going on. Our destination is the room beyond the bar which Gillian had previously pointed out.

Inside the room are several people, including Mrs. Snow and a man I presume is her husband. Gillian is delighted to see them and there's a touching family reunion. Meanwhile Egeria and Flavius are handcuffed and moved to one side. Cato and I are briefly questioned by one of the men, and then we are told that we may go. We aren't encouraged to linger, but I insist on saying goodnight to Gillian.

"Thank you, Miss Deane," says Mrs. Snow. "You have carried out your duty satisfactorily. Here are your wages, plus a small bonus. Unfortunately for you, now my husband has returned, we no longer have need of your services."

I'm slightly shocked at my sudden dismissal. I suspect Mrs. Snow doesn't want me around asking awkward questions. It seems that Mr. and Mrs. Snow have no intention of explaining their actions nor telling me what is going on. I'm about to demand an explanation when Cato grabs my arm and guides me towards the door. Gillian runs to me as Cato and I near the door.

"Thanks for everything, Katniss," she says with genuine feeling. "I'll not forget what you've done."

"What about your hair mesh?" I ask. "Should I bring it round to your apartment tomorrow?"

"No! No! Keep the horrid thing. I hated wearing it. Its my gift to you for looking after me."

Gillian is called back to her parents, and Cato and I are politely but firmly escorted from the room. I'm due to start my third dancing session soon, and I leave Cato to amuse himself. He's not likely to be allowed in here again, so he seems determined to make the most of the opportunity. Perhaps I'll introduce him to Fleur, the red-haired dancer who attracted his attention earlier. He'll soon learn that pretty looks and an eye-catching costume don't necessarily make a good companion.

The rest of the night at the Black Cat is hectic. I don't see the Snows leave, nor what happens to Egeria and Flavius. Marcie tells me that I'm to work until five o'clock. It'll be a long night, but I'll be richer for the effort. Cato is chatting to three men in one of the booths when I check on him at three o'clock. I don't interrupt him, and instead I take a much needed breather in one of the quieter corners of the club.

"Miss Everdeen," comes a voice from behind me. I turn in surprise at the use of my real name.

"President Snow," I reply. "You're up late. I never imagined the President of Panem as an all-night party-goer."

"I rarely sleep. Besides, it's a night for celebration," replies President Snow. "You've played a part ... albeit a very small one ... in preventing a civil war. You've done well, and you shall be rewarded."

"I just want my sister to be safe, and to live my life in peace," I reply.

"Admirable ambitions, Miss Everdeen. Ones which I'm happy to assist you to achieve. Seneca Crane will be announcing tomorrow that the 75th Hunger Games reaping will be amended as I promised. The female tribute for District Twelve will be selected as usual. It means that your sister will no longer be the only person in the draw. Unfortunately it means that your name will be in the draw as well, but that's as good as it gets."

I hate the man, but I shouldn't have expected any less from the likes of President Snow. He gives with one hand and takes away with the other.

"Katie Deane is a District Two resident," I reply. "Are you saying that I can once again use my real name?"

"Yes. Seneca Crane will be announcing the amazing discovery of your and the District Eleven girl's survival, although he won't be mentioning how you both received help. It will be his final act as a Gamemaker. From then on Katie Deane will no longer exist. You will be returning to District Twelve the following day for a televised reunion with your family. My new assistant will provide you with the details of your cover story. Stick to the script if you don't want further trouble."

I know better than to ask what will become of Seneca Crane. Failure isn't something President Snow tolerates, and a Gamemaker who allows tributes to escape from the arena would be regarded as a huge failure.

"You have a new assistant?" I ask, fishing for some clue as to what happened.

"Yes. Egeria decided to throw her lot in with Plutarch Heavensbee and his gang. Heavensbee might have escaped my net for the moment, but his co-conspirators are behind bars. My son has been freed unharmed and we've recovered most of the kidnapper's ransom."

"I thought it was Gillian who was in danger of being kidnapped," I reply.

"I told you the truth. Just because the plotters had kidnapped my son, it didn't mean that Gillian was safe. Thankfully my suspicions about the loyalty of my daughter-in-law proved unfounded. She played her part well and my men managed to free my son at only minimal cost."

Since I don't understand what role Mrs. Snow played in what happened, I can't judge for myself. There were several things Mrs. Snow said and did which don't make sense. A lot of what she told Gillian were lies. But why? President Snow obviously had his doubts about Mrs. Snow as well. That's probably why he didn't want her to know about him contacting me. The man has enemies everywhere and he trusts nobody. I can't say I'm surprised or sorry.

As President Snow promised, Seneca Crane makes the televised announcements the next day. Shortly afterwards, a courier delivers a replacement identity card with my real name, together with a train ticket to District Twelve tomorrow. It means I have most of today to say goodbye to Cato, who is returning to District Two this evening. He has promised to visit me in District Twelve when he can. Whether he will or not remains to be seen.

I still can't make sense of Mrs. Snow's actions in all this. Something tells me that President Snow may be premature in dropping his suspicions about her. But I'm more concerned about Gillian. Her heart's in the right place, and she deserves better than being a pawn in the power struggle going on around her. But there's nothing I can do. Effie insists that I keep the Jewels of Desire, which I pack away with my newly acquired hair ornament. It seems unlikely that I'll ever take them out of their boxes again.

My last day with Cato is very special, and our parting at the station is emotional. I'll really miss him, but I'm also excited at the prospect of being with my family again. All too soon it is Effie who is waving me off on the train to District Twelve. The next stage of my life begins here.


	27. 4-1 Return from the dead

4.1 Return from the dead

It's all my fault. I admit it. Perhaps if I'd thought about President Snow's offer for a moment I would have seen the pitfalls. Suddenly reappearing from the dead in the most public way possible was only the first of my mistakes. The fact that President Snow didn't give me a choice doesn't ease my feeling of guilt. Prim and my mother had already come to terms with my death. To be suddenly faced with my arrival on their doorstep sent ma into a nervous breakdown, and Prim into a state of shock. Prim recovered quickly, but ma switched off again ... just as she did when pa died.

There are practical consequences as well. My room has been let to a young woman who is expecting a child. I don't have the heart to evict her and reclaim my room, particularly since ma and Prim rely on the rent to make ends meet. I've no job and the new electrified fence around the town makes breaking out to go hunting a suicidal endeavour. I refuse to be a liability to my family and friends, so I find a derelict building and move in. It's a grotty hole, but it'll do until I can find a job ... which, unfortunately, will be easier said than done.

District Twelve has changed in my absence. More mines have closed and out of work miners have been reduced to begging on street corners. The broken down fence around the town, which was supposedly to keep dangerous animals out, has been replaced with what is unmistakeably a prison fence designed to keep people in. To accompany the new fence are guard towers and an increase in the number of peacekeepers. We have a military base now as well, although that's located on the other side of the fence, so it only provides a little trade for District Twelve businesses. There's a noticeable tension in the air, as though trouble is expected at any moment.

I catch up with Gale Hawthorne and some of my other former friends. It's through them that I learn that the change in the Hunger Games rules which has saved Prim from certain selection for the 75th Hunger Games was greeted with stunned silence by the residents of District Twelve. Silence which has gradually turned to hostility towards me when people realise that I was indirectly responsible for the change in the rules. As long as Prim was the only eligible female candidate for the Games, then every other girl was safe ... at least for this year. Prim was regarded with sympathy and as someone special. She and ma received favours and financial help. Although neither of them asked for these gifts, it has placed a moral debt on their shoulders which must somehow be repaid. It's unfair in the circumstances, but that's the District Twelve way. The doctor says that ma's current mental state has as much to do with the moral obligation she now feels as the shock of my survival.

"Everyone here is glad that you survived the 74th Hunger Games," says Prim, when she visits me in my hovel. "It's just that some are a bit slow in realising it. Whatever happens, know that ma and I love you, and that we are proud of what you've achieved."

While Prim may be delighted about my return, the same can't be said of many others. People are afraid, and anything or anyone out of the ordinary is treated with suspicion.

"I bet the girl who gets reaped for the 75th Hunger Games will be cursing my survival and return," I reply.

"It's still a few weeks until the reaping. There's time for people to come around. Are you managing okay? This place looks terrible."

"You should have seen it before I tidied up," I reply. "I've been able to scrounge some food, and there are a few rabbits who have regretted my return to District Twelve."

"Have you been able to find a job?" asks Prim.

"No. I've asked around but there are no suitable jobs available. In any case, I'm hardly flavour of the month at the moment. One shopkeeper had the gall to suggest that I try my luck joining the prostitutes on Mill Street."

"That's disgusting," says Prim. "Which shop was it? They'll get no more of our business."

I move our conversation onto other things. It's not a shop which ma and Prim frequent in any case. While I despise the man for making the comment he did, I must accept responsibility for how people see me. I've displayed my body in both public and private, wearing nothing more than the Jewels of Desire. I can't really blame people if they regard me as someone with loose morals.

While I would rather starve than reduce myself to working on Mill Street, the possibility of using the Jewels of Desire to earn money is worth thinking about. I'd never sell the Jewels. Besides, nobody in District Twelve has the kind of money to pay what the Jewels are worth. Unfortunately there are only a few places of entertainment in District Twelve where an exotic dancer might be required. Most of those only run entertainment one or two nights a week, and it's usually of the seedier sort. Nevertheless I do the rounds the bars and clubs the following evening.

A guy called Griff runs the Jolly Miner inn, and he's interested in hiring me for next Friday night's entertainment. It's a tips only arrangement, so he can hardly lose on the deal. The inn is a far cry from the Black Cat night club in the Capitol, but it's relatively tidy and clean. Unlike the last place I tried, Griff isn't insisting that I strip naked during my routine. Despite the inn's name, I don't see any miners frequenting this place. Most of the patrons are office workers and off duty peacekeepers. More importantly, a reasonable number of those here tonight are women. I would have serious concerns for my safety dancing in a place full of drunken men. Griff has promised to protect me from an over enthusiastic audience while I perform, but once I'm off stage then I'm on my own.

When Friday comes around I prepare as best as I'm able. While I briefly think about asking Gale to come with me in case of trouble, I decide that I must stand on my own two feet. After all, my time at the Black Cat has given me some experience in dealing with roving hands and over bearing admirers. It would also be unfair to expect Gale to stand up against off duty peacekeepers, who might take their revenge on him later.

The Jolly Miner can hold about ninety patrons, although only fifty of so are able to see the small stage. There are three entertainers tonight, although I'm the only dancer. A comedian and a singer are scheduled before me and both seem nervous about something.

"Is anything wrong?" I ask them as we prepare in the shared dressing room.

"There's a score of off-duty soldiers in the audience," replies the woman singer. "When they set up the military base in District Twelve, we were promised that the soldiers wouldn't be allowed into town."

"I don't understand. What do you have against the soldiers being here?"

"They're a law unto themselves," replies the comedian. "Even the peacekeepers have no authority over them. The military officers rarely trouble themselves with controlling the actions of their soldiers while they are off duty. There could be trouble. I'm out of here the minute I finish my act."

"Me too," replies the singer. "You're going to need a lot of luck tonight, girl."

Despite their misgivings, the two acts before me are well received and both earn a good number of tips. I can't tell how much they receive, and neither of them bothers to stop and count their money before leaving.

There's a short pause before my act is due to start. The crowd has swelled to maximum capacity and Griff is rushed off his feet at the bar. He's not going to be much help to me should the audience turn unruly. I've had to borrow my music from Griff's collection, and I'll need to use my imagination to work out a routine. Fortunately I have kept a couple of costumes which I purchased during my time at the Black Cat to supplement the Jewels of Desire. The music starts and I begin my dance in front of a rapt audience. Although off-duty and in civilian clothes, it's easy to spot the soldiers sat near the stage. Both genders sport a short crop hairstyle and an arrogant swagger which makes them stand out, even against the peacekeepers sat nearby.

Neither the music nor the make up of the audience here make it appropriate for me to use any of my routines from the Black Cat. This audience is expecting something earthier. My appearance here tonight hasn't been widely publicised ... there hasn't been time ... but it's clear that word of mouth has attracted many of tonight's audience.

I've deliberately adjusted my costume to avoid the subtle teasing of my senses. I need to keep my wits about me tonight, and becoming aroused isn't very sensible. I dance my routine and slowly peel away the accessory costume until I'm dancing in only the Jewels of Desire. I begin to wonder whether the earlier alarm about the soldiers' presence was misplaced. They seem reasonably well behaved, at least compared to some of the other patrons.

One of the soldiers moves towards the stage edge. For a moment I think he is Cato. A closer look makes me realise that this man could pass for a slightly older version of Cato. He must be about twenty years of age, and he has the same mannerisms as my friend and sometimes lover. I continue my performance and for a moment lose sight of Cato's lookalike. When I return to where he was standing, I see that he's gone.

My first routine finishes to thundering applause and a generous number of tips. I quickly gather my money and clothes and retreat to the dressing room. Griff hired me to do three half hour routines, so I'm back on stage in about twenty minutes. I put my cash in the small strongbox I've chained to the roof beam. It's a trick which I learned while at the Black Cat. Tips are of no value if someone steals them. Getting my money home might be more problematic, but I'll worry about that later.

I take a short rest before preparing for my next performance. I want to avoid repeating the same routine, although, as before, I'll end up wearing nothing but the Jewels of Desire. Because of the large crowd, Griff has tried to circulate the audience, so that everyone has a chance to be in sight of the stage. His efforts have only partially succeeded, and the soldiers remain firmly in place. If anything, there are more of them.

I perform my dance routine. The soldiers have been drinking steadily and I notice much less control in their behaviour. A couple of them make a half-hearted attempt to grab my leg as I dance, but I easily avoid their grasping hands. The tips are more generous after my second performance, and I once again retreat to the dressing room to stash my earnings. I've just locked my strongbox when one of the soldiers enters my dressing room. It's the man who looks like Cato.

"Sorry, soldier, but you aren't allowed back here," I say in as neutral a tone as possible.

"I'll not hold you up," replies the soldier. "My cousin Cato wanted me to say 'hi' to you on his behalf."

"I thought I recognised a family resemblance," I reply, desperately trying to recall whether Cato ever mentioned having a cousin. "I'm sorry but I can't remember your name."

"Catullus," replies the soldier. "I doubt Cato ever mentioned me. He doesn't normally like talking about his family."

I realise the truth of Catullus's comment. Cato has rarely mentioned his family, and when he does it is only with the briefest of detail.

"So how is Cato?" I ask.

"I haven't seen him since before the last Hunger Games. But Cato and I talk on the telephone from time to time. He told me about your act. When I heard you were going to perform here tonight, I and some of my friends simply had to come and see you for ourselves."

"I thought you weren't supposed to be in town," I say. "Won't you get into trouble?"

"Possibly. No doubt someone will tell the mayor. He'll probably complain to our commanding officer. And she'll likely give us all extra latrine duty. A small price to pay to watch you perform. You're very good, by the way. I'm looking forward to your next session. We all are."


	28. 4-2 A phone call

4.2 A phone call

Catullus returns to his friends and I prepare for my last performance for tonight. My confidence has been boosted by the good reception I received during my previous two sessions. Consequently I decide to risk adjusting my costume so that my own senses drive my performance to a higher and more erotic level. As I step onto the stage I realise I might have been too optimistic about the audience's continued good behaviour. My twenty minute break has given Griff ample opportunity to sell more drinks, and there are several in the audience who are inebriated. I'm not bothered by those who have simply fallen into a drunken stupor. It's the ones who seem to be spoiling for a fight who pose a problem.

I begin my routine and the audience watches me intently. As my dance progresses my own arousal takes hold, driving me to lewder actions. The audience presses closer for a better look, and more than a few reach out to touch me. I manage to diffuse a few minor arguments by dancing close to the protagonists, but inevitably someone takes a swing at their neighbour and a more serious scuffle breaks out. I don't stop my dance, so many of the patrons simply ignore the fight. But not Griff. He leaps over the bar with more athleticism than I thought him capable of managing. He's breaks up the fight by brandishing a thick cudgel which he obviously keeps behind the bar for such occasions. A peacekeeper and a soldier both end up nursing sore heads.

My routine ends and I quickly collect my tips. I don't know how long the patrons will continue drinking, but without any entertainment they may start to create their own amusement. I change back into my street clothes and retrieve my strongbox, which now contains a tidy sum of money along with the Jewels of Desire. All I have to do now is get safely back to my hovel and return the strongbox to its hiding place.

The back door to the Jolly Miner is locked, so I'm forced to work my way through the crowd. More than a few patrons see me, and try to delay my departure. I politely refuse their offers to join their party, and continue to head for the door. It's a slow process, but eventually I reach my immediate destination. Now all I have to do is navigate those lurking about outside. Although fewer in number than those inside the Jolly Miner, I sense that these people are more menacing. I suspect many of them have been thrown out of the Jolly Miner for being drunk or disorderly.

I walk past the groups hanging about. I've more sense than to run or show fear. Like a pack of dogs, they would be on me in a matter of seconds if they sensed prey. I casually draw my knife which I've had hidden in my boot, and pretend to admire the blade as I walk away. In reality I'm watching every movement of those nearby. I can't tell whether it is my blade which deters any approach, or if I've simply overestimated the threat. Either way, I'm soon clear of the Jolly Miner and heading towards my meagre home. Every now and then I check in case anybody is following me.

Once I'm in the relative safety of my temporary home, I count my night's earnings. I'm pleasantly surprised. It's more than I could have made working for a month in a shop, but it isn't regular income. I've enough to buy food and clothes, but without a steady job, I'm unlikely to find anyone to rent me a room. I suppose I could go and see Griff tomorrow and see if he'll hire me to dance on other nights. He must have made a tidy sum at the bar tonight. I just hope the soldiers didn't trash the Jolly Miner before returning to their barracks.

I think back to my brief meeting with Catullus. He mentioned he had spoken to Cato over the telephone. It must have been within the last few days if Cato suggested that Catullus contact me. Telephones are a rare luxury in the districts, but I recall that Hunger Games victors have one installed in their homes in their district's Victors Village. Which means, of course, that Haymitch will have a telephone. I make my up my mind to go and visit Haymitch tomorrow and ask if I can phone Cato.

Haymitch is looking worse for wear when I call at his house on Saturday morning. Even though he's known for months that he'll be District Twelve's male tribute for the 75th Hunger Games, he still hasn't come to terms with it. I'm not looking forward to being his mentor ... assuming I don't get reaped as a tribute myself. I'm another one who has a certain ticket on the train to the 75th Hunger Games. The only difference is that I won't know until the reaping whether I'm going as mentor or tribute.

I feel like demanding that Haymitch lay off the booze, but I don't want to jeopardize my chances of him allowing me to call Cato. Besides, who am I to tell him how to cope with what is almost certainly a death sentence. Haymitch allows me to call Cato, and I'm lucky enough to catch him at home.

"Katniss! Hi!" says Cato in pleasant surprise. "How are you doing? Is everything alright?"

We exchange news of what has happened since we parted company. "I met your cousin Catullus last night," I say. "He said 'hi' on your behalf as you asked him to do."

"I don't see how that's possible, Katniss," says Cato. "I haven't seen or spoken to my cousin for nearly two years. He got involved with some anti-government activists and had to go into hiding when the peacekeepers started sniffing around."

"Oh?!" I reply. "He said he was your cousin, and he certainly looks like you. He's ..."

Haymitch promptly slams his hand on the phone, cutting off my conversation.

"Someone else might be listening in on your call," warns Haymitch. "Be very careful what you say over the telephone. You could put yourself and Cato in danger by careless talk."

What I thought was going to be an innocent conversation takes a sinister turn. If the man I saw last night isn't Cato's cousin, then why did the he claim to be Catullus? He knew some details about Cato's life, but I suppose that could have been learned from the frequent television broadcasts about Cato. Every Hunger Games victor spends much of their life in the public eye. As the most recent victor, Cato would have received more public attention than most. Cato didn't deny he has a cousin called Catullus, although he didn't refer to him by name. Even if the man was Cato's cousin, it seems strange that someone who was an anti-government activist should join the Panem military. I don't know much about the process for joining the military, but surely they make some form of background check before accepting new recruits. None of this is making any sense.

"So, where did you meet this mysterious dark stranger?" asks Haymitch as he pours himself another drink.

"Fair, not dark," I reply. "I was dancing at the Jolly Miner last night and he and his friends were there."

"Perhaps he was simply trying a pick-up line," suggests Haymitch. "I presume you were prancing around in nothing but those jewels. I sometimes think that you underestimate the effect you have on young males. And older males too, I suppose."

"If it was a pick-up line, then he didn't try very hard. He seemed genuine enough, but obviously I was mistaken."

"Are you likely to see him again?" asks Haymitch.

"I doubt it. He said he was part of the military unit stationed outside of town. Of course, that could have been a lie, but I don't think so. There were twenty or so other men and women with him, and they all had military style haircuts. How long has the military base been here in District Twelve? I didn't think there was anything the military would be interested in this far from the Capitol."

"The soldiers arrived a month or so back. I've no idea why they are here. I'm not on the must-call list of anyone important, so I've only the rumours to go on."

"And what do the rumours say?" I ask.

"The rumours are as varied as they're probably wrong. Some suggest that there's a rebel army based in the hills where District Thirteen once stood. Others hint that rebel saboteurs are planning to target the District Twelve mines to cut off coal supplies to the Capitol. If anybody really knows, then they're not talking."

"I doubt the loss of coal supplies will have much effect on the Capitol for a long time," I reply.

It's common knowledge that nearly all of the coal produced in District Twelve goes to keep the mills and factories in the districts going, and district people warm in winter. If the mines are the rebels' target, then they are attacking the wrong people. Those in the districts will suffer severe hardship long before any resident in the Capitol notices a problem.

"Well, I don't buy the rebel army story, either," says Haymitch. "Where would they get the weapons to match those of the Panem military stationed here. Have you seen the weaponry the soldiers camped at our gate have at their disposal?"

"Not really," I reply. "I noticed the military base near the train tracks when I arrived from the Capitol. But I don't know enough about military hardware to tell the difference between a missile launcher and a fire truck."

I'm careful not to mention anything about what I learned of District Thirteen while I was in the Capitol. President Snow said I must keep to what he referred to as 'the script' if I wanted to avoid further trouble. Haymitch's tendency to drink too much makes him an unreliable confidant.

"Well, take it from me that they've enough heavy weaponry to hold off an aerial or ground assault for quite a while. Even the peacekeepers are intimidated."

I might not know anything about military weaponry, but I agree with Haymitch's observation that the peacekeepers are subdued by the presence of the soldiers. Given the peacekeepers' brutal treatment of District Twelve's residents, I can't say that I'm sorry to see the peacekeepers constrained. I'm about to leave to see Griff at the Jolly Miner when the telephone rings. It's Cato calling back, believing it was a technical fault which caused our previous call to be cut off. I heed Haymitch's advice to be careful about what I say. Cato must realise the cause of my sudden reticence and neither of us mention Catullus, or whoever he might be. After a while Haymitch leaves me in peace once Cato and I start whispering sweet nothings over the telephone.

My afternoon is less than a resounding success. Griff was pleased with my routine last night, but he already has a regular dancer. I think he would keep me on if he could, but his regular dancer is hovering over his shoulder guarding her turf. It seems that I only got to perform last night because his usual dancer was nursing a sore leg. I leave him with my address in case his dancer's delicate leg should cause her any more trouble in the near future.

I take a walk to where the military base is located. I can't reach the base itself since it's located on the other side of electrified boundary fence, but I can get close enough to see a good part of the barracks. I suppose I'm really hoping to see Catullus, if only to confirm that he wasn't lying about being a soldier. Unfortunately there's not a lot of visible activity going on inside the base. I can see a line of heavy vehicles parked at one side of the base, but I've no idea what function they perform. They certainly look impressive, though.

I wait a while, but all I see are the sentries at the gate and a few people moving between buildings. For all I know, the majority of the soldiers could be out on manoeuvres, or whatever the military get up to when there's no war to fight. Finally I decide to head back to my hovel. I take a detour to visit ma and Prim. I suppose I should have visited them earlier, but despite Prim's warm words I still feel like a pariah.


	29. 4-3 Reaping

4.3 Reaping

The news that Prim isn't going to be the only female candidate at the 75th Hunger Games reaping has slowly brought ma back closer to reality. But the change in the rules which has saved Prim from certain selection has caused as many problems as it has solved. According to Prim, ma seemed to be holding up remarkably well to the prospect of losing both her daughters to the Hunger Games in successive years. However, the doctor tells me that ma was in denial, and that I shouldn't blame myself for ma's current state. I do, though.

I keep to myself for the next few days, spending several hours a day walking around town. Griff hasn't invited me to dance at the Jolly Miner again, and no one else seems inclined to give me a job. Fortunately my one night of dancing has provided me with enough money to keep me going until the Hunger Games reaping.

All too soon the day of the reaping for the 75th Hunger Games arrives. I lie on my bed admiring the Jewels of Desire and the head ornament Gillian gave me, before putting them back in their boxes and into my bag. In four hours time the reaping ceremony will begin. Whatever happens, I'll be leaving on the train taking the tributes to the Capitol this afternoon. Haymitch will be the male tribute ... that's certain. I'll either be District Twelve's female tribute ... again ... or, more likely, the District Twelve mentor. I suppose I could volunteer for whichever girl is unfortunate enough to be reaped. That might restore my tarnished reputation in District Twelve, but it will doom both Haymitch and I to almost certain death in the Hunger Games arena. Without a mentor to negotiate with would-be sponsors, we'll be severely handicapped in the arena.

Of course, the female tribute from District Twelve is as good as dead anyway. Pitted against twenty three experienced killers, it would take an extraordinary amount of luck for her to survive the opening minutes, let alone what follows. The prospect of volunteering enters my head once again and I resolve to go and talk to Haymitch. I just hope he's sober enough for an intelligent conversation.

I trek over to Haymitch's house in the Victors' Village. There's no answer to my knock on the door, so I peer through the kitchen window. I see him flopped over the kitchen table with several bottles of booze strewn around the floor. He's drunk. Not that I blame him, but for the honour of District Twelve I need to make sure he is at least conscious at the reaping ceremony. I pick the door lock and fill a bucket of water in the sink. Fortunately I anticipate Haymitch's reaction to his unscheduled cold shower and I step back out of the way before I get cut by the broken bottle he brandishes.

"That's no way to treat a man old enough to be your father," grumbles Haymitch.

"Thankfully we're not related," I reply, not the least bit intimidated. "You've just over two hours to get ready for the reaping. Tidy yourself up before the peacekeepers come to escort you to the town square."

"You're not my mentor yet, Katniss. Don't order me around until after the reaping."

"The prospect of being your mentor hardly fills me with joy. If I get reaped ... or I volunteer like I did last year ... then I won't have to be your mentor."

"Don't you dare volunteer, girl. Even if it's your sister who gets reaped. We need a mentor. You're the only person the Gamemakers will allow to be the District Twelve mentor this year."

Without acknowledging Haymitch's words, I decide he's probably right about the tributes needing a mentor. But if Prim is reaped, then I'll have no hesitation in volunteering. It's the least I can do to make amends for the trouble my reappearance has caused.

I go to our family home to wash and dress for the reaping. My hovel has no running water, although I have managed alright for the last few weeks. Today is special, though. Prim and I help each other to get ready. The doc has given ma some sedatives to calm her nerves. I know he would like to confine her to bed. Unfortunately the peacekeepers require everyone to attend the reaping, so ma is going to have to stand with the other parents at the ceremony.

"Are you okay?" I ask Prim when there are only a few minutes to go before the siren summons everyone to the square.

"Yes," replies Prim with a strength in her voice that I hadn't noticed before. "How about you?"

"I'm okay," I reply. "Whatever happens, I'll be leaving for the Capitol this afternoon. I've even got my bag packed ready to go. I wish it were otherwise, but we are prisoners of this rotten system. It might have been better if I never returned."

"Don't say that, Katniss," replies Prim. "I know you've faced some hostility since you returned. But remember that many of those people are afraid and they don't really mean what they are saying."

While Prim has been delighted about my return, the same can't be said of many others. People are scared, and anything out of the ordinary is treated with suspicion. I recall telling Prim that the girl who gets reaped today will be cursing my survival and return.

At midday we assemble in the town square. The registration process is quicker than usual since the male draw is limited to only one person ... Haymitch. At a rough count there are about a hundred and eighty girls in the draw. The chances of any particular girl being selected are quite small, but that doesn't ease anyone's nerves. I look for ma among the crowd of worried parents, but I can't see her.

As usual, Effie Trinket appears on the stage to make the draw. She makes the standard speech which most of us in the crowd could recite from memory. Nobody is really listening to her words, which are only for the benefit of the television audience in the Capitol. Usually it's the female tribute who is drawn first, but some nameless official has decided to keep everyone in suspense for a while longer and start with the male tribute draw. Only one slip of paper is in the large glass bowl. Despite the obvious outcome, Effie tries to put as much drama into the draw as possible. Again, it is all for the benefit of the television audience in the Capitol.

"This year's male tribute for District Twelve is ... Haymitch Abernathy," announces Effie.

Haymitch walks up the steps and onto the platform. He makes a move to kiss Effie, which prompts her to back away quickly. She nearly falls into the mayor's lap. Despite the nervousness among the crowd, Haymitch's actions prompt a small ripple of laughter. Haymitch uses Effie's momentary absence from the microphone to try and make a quick speech. At least he would have done had he been quick enough, and sober enough, to stop one of the technicians from disconnecting the microphone. Haymitch has to content himself with a theatrical bow before he is manhandled to his designated position on the stage. There will be those in authority who see Haymitch's outburst as an insult, making a laughing stock of District Twelve. But I'm not one of them. I know Haymitch is really mocking the gamemakers and the Capitol.

Effie soon regains her composure and proceeds with the draw for the female tribute. The crowd goes silent. It's not just the people in the square who are waiting with baited breath. By tradition, the tributes for District Twelve are drawn last of all the twelve districts, so the television viewers in the Capitol will already know the identities of the other twenty three tributes. Almost without exception those tributes will be household names. Victors of previous Hunger Games like Haymitch. Popular men and women who have learned how to please their admirers, although I suspect several are no longer in their prime. Youth is the only advantage the female tribute from District Twelve will have over most of her rivals. Unfortunately, youthfulness alone won't be enough to survive.

"And now the moment for which you've all been waiting. The draw for the female tribute who will have the honour of representing District Twelve in the 75th Hunger Games."

I shift uneasily, still undecided whether to volunteer as tribute. I look around me. There are hardly any girls in the reaping who have any fighting or survival skills at all. Without being conceited, I'm probably the best female tribute District Twelve can put forward this year. But without a mentor even the most skilful tributes would be at a huge disadvantage. I don't have a death wish, but I feel partly responsible for what is happening today.

It's a difficult decision. It would be easier if I could volunteer before the draw is made, but the gamemakers' rules forbid it. The identity of the selected tribute must be announced so that everyone will know who has been chosen for the arena. Only once the tribute is named can someone volunteer in their place. And the first volunteer is the only one who can be accepted ... not that there's ever likely to be more than one volunteer.

"This year's female tribute for District Twelve is ... Faith Drinkwater," announces Effie.

She isn't someone I know, so I join everyone else in looking around me for the unfortunate Faith. A wail from among the line of the youngest girls tells everyone that for the second year running the reaping has drawn a twelve year old girl. How cruel. My impulse to volunteer becomes unbearable and I push my way through the crowd around me.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The murmuring in the crowd stops at once and everyone turns to watch this unexpected turn of events. There are a few cries of 'No!', but they are ignored by those on stage.

"Oh my goodness!" cries Effie. "This is absolutely amazing! District Twelve has a volunteer for the second year running. This is unheard of in the history of the Hunger Games. Come up to the stage and let everyone see you, my dear."

Effie is wrong, of course. She's letting her emotions run away with her in the heat of the moment. Districts One and Two have volunteer tributes every year ... although perhaps not this year. The crowd watches respectfully as the ceremony continues. As is customary, the male and female tribute shake hands as a symbol of sportsmanship. A silly gesture, really, since there is nothing sporting about the Hunger Games contest.

I suppose those in the Capitol will be delighted. District Twelve may not be able to provide a female Hunger Games victor as a tribute, but providing a volunteer is probably the next best thing. My immediate thoughts are for ma. How will she take this announcement. It could destroy her mind completely, although the doc reassured me that she's stronger than she looks. Besides, haven't I already shown that Everdeen girls are quite difficult to kill.

The train for the Capitol leaves in fifteen minutes, so there's barely any time to say farewell to friends and family. It's easy for Haymitch. He has no family or friends to see him off. I said my goodbyes to ma earlier, although it was a difficult conversation. I just hope that she realises how much I love her. Prim is standing beside me when the door bursts open and ma comes running in and wraps us both in her arms.

"Oh, my girls!" cries ma.

"I'm sorry, ma," says Prim. "But you and I discussed this earlier. Katniss will help take care of me, and if the fates allow, we'll both come home again soon."

I join Prim and ma in a family hug which is broken when two peacekeepers come to take Haymitch, Prim and I to the waiting train. I look at Prim as we are escorted down the street. I see the same strength in her which I briefly noticed before. Still, I wish I had been a few seconds faster in making my way through the crowd. It should have been me rather than Prim who volunteered to replace Faith Drinkwater in the arena.


	30. 4-4 Moral obligation

4.4 Moral obligation

"I have been training for these Games," says Prim defensively, in response to my tirade about the foolishness of her actions.

I'm still upset that she volunteered as a tribute, but my anger has abated ... a bit. I never dreamed that Prim would do anything like this. In the weeks since my return to District Twelve, Prim never once hinted that she had volunteering in mind. Perhaps I should have stayed closer to home instead of keeping away like a coward. Her actions undermine everything I've been trying to achieve. But what is done is done. I know I must overcome my anger in order to help her.

I try to console myself with the fact that District Twelve has a volunteer rather than a conscripted tribute. Being a volunteer from an outlying district certainly gave me an edge over the other tributes last year. Unfortunately these Games aren't like any of the previous Games. The other tributes aren't scared kids ... they're experienced killers. How else could each of them be a Hunger Games victor.

"How long have you been in training?" I ask.

"Several months ... ever since the Gamemakers announced that I was going to be the female tribute this year. Haymitch and Gale have been helping me. I didn't stop my training when the rule change was made."

I'm forced to concede that Prim is definitely a lot fitter, and that she carries herself with more self-assurance, than a year ago. Prim's self-assurance may be a consequence of my prolonged absence from her life, forcing her to rely on her own judgement. Unfortunately, I doubt her training alone is going to be sufficient to match the ruthless opponents she'll be facing. But at least it helps to give her an outside chance.

"You might have told me that you intended to volunteer," I say.

"You would have tried to stop me," replies Prim. "Not that you would have succeeded. There are many people in the district who did favours for ma and I when they thought I was to be the only girl in the reaping. Favours which placed a moral obligation on me to represent District Twelve in the Hunger Games arena. I wouldn't be able to face our neighbours or my friends at school if I simply stood aside and allowed Faith Drinkwater to be taken."

I'm about to retort that nobody expected Prim to voluntarily sacrifice herself, but I realise that I would sound defeatist. Besides, she's right about the moral obligation. I'm all too familiar with the pressure of unwanted responsibility. The odds aren't in Prim's favour, but they are considerably better than they would be for Faith Drinkwater if she was here instead.

Our escort abruptly halts our march towards the train station. I soon realise why. There's no train waiting for us. The peacekeepers are thrown into total confusion. Effie looks as bemused as everyone else. One of the peacekeepers runs to where the train should be waiting as though he might find it hiding behind a bush or something. Even standing where we are, a good two hundred metres from the station, it's obvious there's no train anywhere nearby.

Someone suddenly remembers that the remote television cameras are recording the whole scene. A few prompt orders from the peacekeepers and cameras are switched off. Those in the Capitol will be left wondering what is going on, but they'll have to wait a while longer for their curiosity to be satisfied. Not that those of us in District Twelve are any better informed. The peacekeepers are constantly talking into their helmet headsets. While we can hear what each is saying, we can't hear the response.

"There's a problem with the train," says the peacekeeper in charge. A statement of the obvious which helps nobody. We wait several more minutes until the peacekeeper in charge finally receives further orders.

"We have orders for you to fly to the Capitol," he announces to us at last.

"I didn't pack my wings," says Haymitch sarcastically. He's still inebriated or he wouldn't risk a backlash from the peacekeeper. Fortunately the peacekeeper has more important things on his mind.

"Return to the court house. An air-hopper is bringing peacekeeper reinforcements and it'll arrive in an hour or so. It will take you to the Capitol on its return trip."

We do as we are told. Clearly whatever has prevented the train from being here isn't going to be fixed in a short while. It's unheard of for Hunger Games tributes to be flown to the Capitol. The arrival in the Capitol of each train carrying its pair of tributes is very much a part of the pageantry associated with the Hunger Games. Arriving in a peacekeeper air-hopper at some out of the way landing pad doesn't have the same mystique.

"Well at least we probably get to travel in one of the peacekeeper's fancy new air-hoppers," says Haymitch.

"How do you work that out?" I ask. "What about the air-hopper which brought Effie here today?"

"Too small for us all. The new 'hoppers are the only ones big enough to take us all the way to the Capitol without stopping to refuel. Besides, if the gamemakers want to salvage any good publicity from this debacle, then they'll need to provide the best air transport available."

I can't dispute Haymitch's logic. We all want to know what has happened to the train, but it's clear that nobody is going to tell us. I begin to wonder whether the talk of rebels in the hills around us has some substance. Perhaps the military base here is justified after all.

We wait for nearly two hours before word comes that the air-hopper will be arriving in fifteen minutes. As Haymitch predicted, it will be one of the peacekeeper's newest air-hoppers which will be landing in the freight yard near the station. We're not told why the regular landing pad isn't being used. The air-hopper's arrival, and our departure, will be televised with as much pomp and ceremony as the officials can be manage at short notice.

At the appointed time Haymitch, Prim, Effie and I are marched to the train station to watch the arrival of the air-hopper. The remote cameras are once again busy recording our every move. I don't know what story has been concocted for the audience in the Capitol, and I don't really care. The air-hopper comes into view, flying slowly towards the hastily cleared freight yard. The remote cameras lose interest in us and switch to the air-hopper's arrival. It's is certainly an impressive sight.

The air-hopper is still half a kilometre from where we stand when we all see something streaking upwards from the nearby forest towards the air-hopper. The loud thud followed by a huge explosion has us ducking for cover. There's no doubt in anyone's mind that what we saw was a missile. The air-hopper breaks up in mid-air and crashes into the scrub just beyond the electrified fence. Tremors and yet more explosions follow. Everybody is too busy taking cover to pay much attention to the air-hopper's death-throws. However, the remote cameras record it all. Other than the unfortunate peacekeepers and crew on board the air-hopper, nobody else seems to be injured. The debris is all confined to the other side of the fence. Now the fence hinders any attempt at a rescue. It's unlikely anybody survived the crash, but precious minutes are lost while a fire crew works its way around to the site of the crash. The peacekeepers in town are running about like headless chickens. Half an hour later there's still no semblance of order being restored. During this time the four of us cower inside the station waiting room along with a few others. One of the stupid remote television cameras is still busy recording our plight. I've no idea where the television technicians have gone.

After a while we hear loud voices proclaiming that the crisis is over. Order has been restored and it is safe to come out of hiding. We wait a few minutes before emerging in case it's a trick. But it's no trick. There are peacekeepers stationed on every corner, and a military vehicle is parked nearby. The peacekeeper in charge of dispatching our party to the Capitol rejoins us. He is accompanied by a military officer and a corporal.

"The rebels have fled into the forest," announces the peacekeeper as though he achieved that feat on his own. "It's too dangerous to fly you out of here and the train line has been cut. The military will drive you to a town in a neighbouring district and you can fly to the Capitol from there."

"Grab your things and follow the corporal," says the officer. "We need to move fast if you're to get to your destination on time."

We do as we are told and board an armoured personnel carrier parked nearby. It's a far cry from the comforts of the luxury train which should be speeding us towards the Capitol. However, compared to the squalor of my hovel, it's a discomfort which I can tolerate. Effie and Prim do their best to make themselves comfortable. Haymitch simply looks as though he needs a stiff drink.

Three soldiers and the corporal board the carrier with us. The doors are closed and we leave without any further ceremony. If there's a speed limit on this road, then the driver is ignoring it. I've no idea where we are going. The main towns in Districts Eleven and Nine are the closest to where we are, but even at this speed, it will take hours to reach either one of them.

After about twenty minutes the carrier slows and we feel the vehicle turn off the road. The bumpy terrain causes us to bounce around the carrier like balls in a barrel.

"What's wrong with the road?" complains Haymitch to the soldiers.

"This is a shortcut," replies the corporal. "We'll rejoin the road in a minute."

The corporal is as good as his word and we soon rejoin a sealed road. But a road to where? Up until now the soldiers have said very little, and the communications radio has been silent. Then, without warning, the corporal calls someone on the radio and engages in what is obviously a coded message exchange.

"Do you have a man called Catullus in your unit?" I ask one of the soldiers.

"Tully? Yeah," replies the soldier. "He's in B platoon. Do you know him?"

"I've met him once. He said that he's the cousin of a friend of mine."

"Don't know about his family. Keeps himself to himself most of the time. Where did you meet him?"

"In District Twelve. At the Jolly Miner," I reply.

"Hey! You're the girl we saw there the other week," says another of the soldiers. "The one who danced wearing nothing but a skimpy costume made of beads."

"Jewels," replies Effie. "Not beads. The Jewels of Desire is not made of beads!"

"I've heard of the Jewels of Desire," muses another of the soldiers. "Isn't that the name of the costume one of the tributes wore in the Capitol before the last Hunger Games?"

"Yes. That was me," I reply.

"So what are you doing here, then?"

"We're on our way to the 75th Hunger Games. I thought you knew that?"

"Officers don't tell us anything," laughs the corporal. "We just obey orders. And our orders are to deliver you safe and sound to our destination. Where you go after that is none of my business."

"And where are you taking us?" I ask.

"If the officer didn't see fit to tell you, then I'm not allowed to say," replies the corporal.

"Then how long will it take us to get there?" I ask, hoping I can work out a destination from the journey's duration from District Twelve.

"About half an hour. Longer if there's any hostile activity nearby."

A radio message interrupts us. Again the message is in code, so I've no idea what it means. When he's finished, the corporal doesn't resume our conversation. Effie and Prim settle down to rest. Haymitch has already fallen asleep despite the occasional jolt and bump on this less than perfect road surface. I can't settle, though. The corporal said we'd be travelling for about another half an hour. But there's no settlement of any size that close to District Twelve. I suppose we could be being taken to an isolated airfield where an air-hopper is waiting. It's just that the peacekeeper told us that we were going to a town in a neighbouring district.


	31. 4-5 Kidnapped

4.5 Kidnapped

The radio messages become more frequent as we get closer to what must be our destination. We stop several times although usually for only a few moments. The soldiers appear calm enough, but I can tell they are alert and ready for any trouble.

I can't see outside of the vehicle, but the changing sounds as we drive along give me clues about our surroundings. Driving through forest creates a softer sound than when we travel near rocks. More than once the sounds indicate we are going over a bridge. Then I hear a sound which I haven't heard before. The reverberating sound suggests we are inside a tunnel. Then the vehicle stops and the driver turns off the engine.

"We've arrived," announces the corporal.

I wake Haymitch, who seems to have been able to sleep through most of the trip. Effie and Prim have spent a lot of time talking together, but I've been too curious about our journey to join in their conversation. We all shield our eyes when the rear door opens and bright artificial light invades the gloom of the carrier's interior.

The soldiers with us promptly leave the carrier and line up by the rear doors like a guard of honour. The four of us clamber out of the vehicle and face the stern looking woman in grey overalls who is waiting nearby. She studies our faces and then looks at the contents of the folder she is carrying.

"Good," is all the woman says before marching away, leaving us standing bewildered by the carrier. I was right in my assessment, we are inside what looks like a large hangar. The huge metal doors are big enough to admit an air-hopper, although I can't see any among the large collection of vehicles parked here.

An officer comes over to where we are standing and the soldiers promptly stand to attention. Salutes are exchanged before the officer turns towards us.

"Welcome to District Thirteen," says the officer. "Our apologies for the method of your extraction but it seemed to be the best means of effecting your escape. Please follow me."

"But we are expected in the Capitol tomorrow morning," says Effie, not fully appreciating that we've been kidnapped.

"I'm afraid the gamemakers will be denied the pleasure of your company this year. Come and enjoy some refreshments before you are shown to your quarters."

While I'm delighted not to be going to the Capitol, this situation will be fraught with consequences. I don't know how our kidnapping succeeded under the noses of the peacekeepers and military. My immediate concern is for the safety of those back at home.

"What about our families and friends in District Twelve?" I ask. "They'll be the target of any retribution."

"District Twelve is safely in rebel hands," replies the officer. "The peacekeepers surrendered without a fight shortly after you left."

"What about the military based outside of the town?" I ask.

"Those military units are rebel troops allied to District Thirteen," replies the officer. "A successful piece of deception which has gained us a great victory."

Like the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle, the picture in my mind becomes clearer. I and many others were certainly fooled into thinking the rebel soldiers were part of the Panem military. I suppose one army uniform looks very much like any other. I realise that Catullus could well be Cato's cousin as he claimed to be.

While the officer is heralding the capture of District Twelve as a great victory for the rebels, I'm not so sure. District Twelve is the smallest and most remote of the twelve districts, so its capture isn't going to be a major thorn in President Snow's side. The stockpiles of coal held in other districts means the loss of production will take a while to have any noticeable effect ... certainly in the Capitol. It's the televised kidnapping of two Hunger Games tributes while in peacekeeper custody which is likely to infuriate President Snow. He may simply take his revenge for that insult by bombing District Twelve into oblivion.

We descend several levels until we come to a large canteen. We join a small queue of people waiting to select a meal from the various dispensers lined along one wall. There are scores of people eating at long tables, although there is plenty of space for more. I notice that everybody wears a uniform of one colour or another. Those already at the tables tend to cluster with people wearing the same colour uniform.

After a few minutes I reach the front of the queue and make my selection from the range of prepared meals in the dispensers. I follow the woman in the yellow uniform ahead of me in the queue towards what appears to be an automated checkout. The officer who escorted us this far is standing nearby and he uses his identity card to clear me through the checkout.

Armed with a plate of steaming meat and veg I go over to the empty end of one table. Prim and Effie follow me soon after. Haymitch seems to have disappeared and I silently curse myself for not keeping a better watch over him. Although, if we aren't going to the 75th Hunger Games, I suppose my responsibility as his mentor is now over. He reappears a few minutes later from direction of the rest rooms and belatedly joins the queue for food.

"What's going to happen to us?" asks Prim before Haymitch and the officer join us.

"I've no idea," I reply. "But I suggest we make the most of this meal. We might have a long wait until the next one."

Haymitch and the officer join us and we eat in silence for a while. The officer is friendly enough, but evades answering any questions about what is going to happen to us. We are about to finish our meal when someone comes over to where we are sitting. I recognise him at once. Plutarch Heavensbee; former gamemaker and a fugitive from President Snow's wrath. I'm not surprised to find Heavensbee here in District Thirteen, but I can't say that I'm pleased. Our last encounter had me jumping to his tune, and I fear that this one will be a repeat.

"Are you going to introduce me to your sister, Katniss?" asks Heavensbee as he sits down facing me across the table.

"Erm ... Prim, this is Plutarch Heavensbee. This is my sister Primrose."

Prim and Plutarch Heavensbee exchange a brief nod of greeting. Prim follows my lead and treats Heavensbee with caution.

"Why the sour faces?" asks Plutarch Heavensbee. "Aren't we all friends here?"

Effie jumps to my defence. "Last time our paths crossed you placed Katniss in danger, and left both us to fend for ourselves."

"Ah! That was regrettable, and due to circumstances beyond my control," says Heavensbee. "But that's behind us and we're all safe from President Snow's clutches."

"So what happens next?" I ask.

"You are all guests in District Thirteen. I expect President Snow will soon make threats and demands for your return. Those demands will be rejected, of course. We'll have to see what he does after that."

"You surely aren't going to try and capture all the districts by military means," says Haymitch, having finally joined us at our table. "District Twelve might have been easy to overcome, but the larger districts will be a whole different ballgame."

"You're right. Even with all the volunteers from the other districts, we can't overcome the might of the forces at President Snow's disposal by military power alone. This is going to be an interesting game."

"Hardly a game," I mutter under my breath.

Plutarch Heavensbee pays no mind to our concerns and leaves us in the care of the officer. Once we have finished eating, the officer takes us to our sleeping quarters several levels deeper in this huge complex. A few hours later, while I'm lying on my bed in the small room I'm to share with Prim, a messenger arrives with instructions for us to accompany him to another meeting with Plutarch Heavensbee. I inwardly groan at the prospect of being manipulated and coerced once again. Unfortunately, we've no option but to comply.

"This is President Coin, leader of District Thirteen" says Plutarch Heavensbee, introducing the ice-maiden sat in the room which we enter. "This is Kaniss Everdeen, ma'am. Her sister Primrose, Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket."

"I've heard about your exploits, Miss Everdeen," says President Coin looking at me. "You have a remarkable ability to survive in situations where survival seems unlikely. Plutarch assures me that you possess more talents than simply a streak of dumb luck. I'm gambling with a lot of people's lives by placing faith in Plutarch's assessment of your abilities."

"I don't want to be responsible for other people's lives," I reply. "I don't claim to have any special talents. I'd prefer it if you found someone else to carry out whatever task you have in mind."

"Unfortunately, that's not possible," replies Heavensbee. "Besides, it will give you a chance to save Cato and the others being held prisoner by whoever is currently in charge of Panem."

"What do you mean? I thought President Snow was in charge of Panem," I reply.

"It seems that he and his son have fallen foul of an unexpected coup. Whether that's a permanent situation or not remains to be seen. Our agents in the Capitol tell us that President Snow's daughter-in-law is now in charge of Panem. You've met her, I believe? Anyway, she's given us 24 hours to deliver you all to the Hunger Games arena in District Eight. The continued good health of the citizens of District Twelve will depend on our compliance."

"So what are you doing to do?" I ask.

"Plutarch has conceived a daring plan," replies President Coin. "On which requires your help."

"Help how?" I ask, not liking the direction in which this conversation is heading.

"We shall deliver the four of you to District Eight within the allowed time," replies Heavensbee. "Once you are there I want you to access the arena's computer system and follow the instructions I shall give you. But be careful. It's important you do nothing to arouse suspicion. If you fail, then we'll have no alternative but to leave you all to your fate."

Yet again I'm trapped into being a pawn in the machinations of powerful people fighting for control of Panem. President Snow was a tyrant, and few people will be sorry to see him overthrown. But I can't say that any of the alternative regimes look all that attractive. I've always had my suspicions about Mrs. Snow's ambitions. President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee seem equally capable of sacrificing an untold number of innocents in order to achieve their political goals. Unfortunately the lives of thousands of people in District Twelve are now resting on my shoulders.

"Very well, providing Prim, Haymitch and Effie agree, I'll take part in this plan. When do we leave?"

"In about an hour," says Heavensbee. "Go and pack your things, and report back here in fifty minutes."

We do as we're bid. Prim looks at me as though I'm about to come up with a foil to Heavensbee's plan. Haymitch and Effie also warn me that I'm taking too big a risk by blindly following Heavensbee's orders. While I agree with them, the alternative seems even more dangerous.

We pack our few things and return to where Plutarch Heavensbee instructed us to go. We're a few minutes late, but nobody seems inclined to complain. We're escorted to a different hanger to the one in which we arrived. A small air-hopper is waiting to transport us to District Eight. No farewells or wishes of good luck. I doubt any of the technicians around us know anything about our mission.

I look for a pilot as I board the craft, but I soon realise that the controls are set to auto-pilot. District Thirteen isn't going to risk the lives of any of its personnel on what is obviously a one-way mission.

The craft takes-off as soon as we've buckled our safety belts. There's no going back now.


	32. 4-6 Arena

4.6 Arena

I admire the view as the craft flies silently over the terrain. We are high enough to avoid obstacles, but low enough to see everything clearly. Plutarch Heavensbee wants me to sabotage the arena computer system. It seems that he used his time as the gamemaker responsible for building the 75th Hunger Games arena to get up to some serious mischief. Heavensbee made my task sound easy, although I get the feeling that neither my nor Prim's, Haymitch's and Effie's survival is a high priority in Heavensbee's plan. He doesn't necessarily want any of us to die, but he'll not lose any sleep if we don't make it back to safety.

All too soon the air-hopper is on approach towards the designated landing site in District Eight. The craft circles the landing pad waiting for the automated clearance to land. I look out of the window. A single vehicle is parked alongside what must be the control room. There doesn't seem to be much of a welcoming committee. This site seems to be well away from the main towns of District Eight since the only structure of any size is what I belatedly realise must be the arena for the 75th Hunger Games.

The control tower must have given the all-clear and our craft lands without further delay. The waiting vehicle moves towards the air-hopper as we start to disembark. We leave the air-hopper and walk the short distance to the waiting vehicle. There are two peacekeepers inside, who show no inclination to leave the protection of their armoured vehicle. We each hand over our identification card and, as expected, the peacekeeper places it into a portable machine. I can't see the result but the peacekeeper shows no sign of alarm.

"Where are you taking us?" I ask.

"We're here to escort you to the arena, which I'm sure you noticed as you arrived."

"I thought we were to go to the Capitol," I say, although I know my words are a lie.

"You were misinformed," replies the peacekeeper, obviously not intending to tell us anything more. "Now get in and let's get going."

We do as we're told. The vehicle leaves at speed, just as the air-hopper takes off. We've only travelled a few hundred metres when I hear an enormous explosion. I look out of the narrow windows in the rear doors and see the air-hopper crash to the ground in flames. It seems an unnecessary act of revenge, but it justifies Heavensbee's decision not to use a human pilot to bring us here.

I can only see out of the back doors of the armoured vehicle. Even so, I can tell when the vehicle enters the inside of the arena complex. We don't travel much further before we're told to disembark. We're faced by a dozen heavily armed peacekeepers. They perform the same identity check that the two peacekeepers in the armoured vehicle carried out, with the additional check of a pinprick blood sample. Finally the peacekeepers seem satisfied. We're each handed a special identity card before being escorted along a corridor and into the bowels of the arena.

Our destination is a suite of rooms similar to the quarters provided for tributes in the Hunger Games Training Centre in the Capitol. The very presence of this suite suggests that it was planned all along for the tributes to rendezvous here at the arena rather than in the Capitol. It strikes me as an odd break with tradition since the pageantry in the Capitol is a major part of the final week of the Hunger Games build up. However, there's been nothing normal about this year's Hunger Games so far.

The guards leave us on our own and we explore the luxurious rooms around us. I identify the computer console in my room, but decide to delay carrying out Heavensbee's sabotage in case this console is being monitored for just such an attempt. My wanderings are interrupted by a message arriving on the communications panel in our suite. It's a message ordering me to report to the administration area in half an hour for a meeting with the other mentors. I study the map of this level of the arena, which is conveniently posted on a wall in the suite. At the appointed time I leave the District Twelve suite and go to the administration area. Most of the other mentors are already waiting.

Of course, there is only one mentor I'm really interested in meeting. I soon spot him talking to a woman whom I presume is the mentor for the female tribute for District Two. District Twelve doesn't have such a luxury, and I'm expected to mentor both of the district's tributes.

"Hello, professor," I say as I approach Cato.

"Princess! What on earth are you doing here?" replies Cato. "We all saw what happened during the reaping in District Twelve. Rumour has it that District Twelve was captured by a rebel group not long after the reaping."

"I've heard the same rumour," I reply. "But that was after we left District Twelve."

I want to tell Cato more about my adventures, but I'm not sure I can trust the others around us. I decide it is safer to keep to the story Heavensbee told me follow. Cato holds his arms wide and I move in close for a welcoming hug.

"So, do you know what's going on? Why we've all been gathered here rather than in the Capitol?" I ask.

"Nobody tells us anything," replies Cato. "The trains which should have taken us to the Capitol brought us here instead. I get the impression this was all prepared well in advance, but few people knew about it."

Cato's words confirm my own observations. The others seem very careful about what they say to anybody. I can't be the only one who has heard about the reported coup in the Capitol.

"Pay attention, please," calls a woman in a dark grey outfit which identifies her as a gamemaker. "As you are aware, this year's Hunger Games are a quarter quell. These Games will be special for many reasons. The normal ceremonies and interviews are being replaced with a week of celebrations and entertainment. You will receive instructions each evening detailing your tributes scheduled activities for the following day. You will be responsible for ensuring your tributes are in the right place at the right time."

The gamemaker hands out envelopes, undoubtedly containing our instructions for the next day. When she approaches me I realise that her apparent calm and confidence is nothing but a mask. Deep down she is clearly troubled about something. I place the envelope I'm given into my pocket so that I can read it later. I'd prefer to spend what time I can with Cato. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts I can't seem to get Cato to myself, even for a few moments.

"Can you come to my suite later?" I say to Cato.

The suites are numbered by district, so I've no need to tell Cato how to find me. I go back to the District Twelve suite. While Cato agreed to come to our suite, he wasn't able to indicate a time for his visit. In the absence of anything better to do while I wait, I take the envelope the gamemaker gave me out of my pocket and read the contents. The first item contains instructions for Prim and Haymitch for tomorrow. It's the second item which takes me by surprise. It's a letter addressed to me from Mrs. Snow. It seems that I'm to expect a personal visit from her tomorrow morning. I'm not certain why Mrs. Snow should travel all this way to see me, and there's no hint of the purpose for her visit. In fact, the letter seems at odds with Plutarch Heavensbee's appraisal of the political and military situation. Apart from one very nervous gamemaker here at the arena, everything and everybody seems perfectly normal. At least, normal by Hunger Games quarter quell standards. I decide to delay any sabotage until after I've met with Mrs. Snow.

Cato pays me a visit a few hours later and I escort him into my room so as not to disturb the others. I'm torn between spending our time talking about the current situation, and engaging in a far more intimate reunion. In the end we settle for a combination of both. Cato is delighted to hear that I've brought the Jewels of Desire with me. I know he likes seeing me in them, as much as I like doing a private performance before him. But that's a treat for later and we move on to other private games in the meantime.

I've stopped worrying about the risk of becoming pregnant, although Cato and I are careful up to a point. I don't fool myself into believing that we have a future. Even in his privileged position as a Hunger Games victor, Cato is still a prisoner to this rotten system. So what chance do I stand? I firmly believe that what awaits me here is death, or a lifetime of imprisonment and servitude. I have very little confidence in Heavensbee rescuing us after I carry out his sabotage plan. And if I get caught, then the best I can hope for is a quick death. Even the unlikely prospect of a rebel victory will only bring President Coin into power, and she seems no better than those she replaces.

I tell Cato about my meeting with his cousin, Catullus. Cato still can't believe that it was his cousin whom I met. I've no way of proving it one way or another and Cato doesn't seem interested in discussing the subject. Since I'm not likely to meet Catullus again, I let the matter drop.

"Do you know anything about what is happening in the Capitol?" I ask.

"Not much," replies Cato. "While all the television cameras were focussed on the events at the District Twelve reaping, it seems President Snow and his son were attacked. Who by, or what became of them, is a mystery to everyone here. I don't think even the gamemakers know. According to the television reports, Mrs. Snow is temporarily in charge. Nobody seems to know whether she's simply a puppet for someone working behind the scenes, or if she's the mastermind behind the coup. But regardless of what is happening in the Capitol, the 75th Hunger Games are still going ahead on schedule. It seems that it doesn't matter who controls the presidency, the people in the Capitol won't put up with anything less than a full Hunger Games spectacle. They've been promised something special this year, and the gamemakers know that their own lives depend on delivering it."

I feel disgusted at the shallowness of the people in the Capitol, who care more about these blood-thirsty games than what is happening elsewhere in Panem. Unfortunately I know Cato is right. I've witnessed it myself while I was working at the Black Cat.

I don't let my worries about the next few days and weeks interrupt my passionate interlude with Cato any longer. We are back to being creatures of the here and now. Neither of us has a predictable future beyond the next few days, so long term plans are meaningless. Besides, even if by some miracle I survive these Games, there's no future for us. Cato is still a hostage to the gamemakers' whims. It's the downside of being a Hunger Games victor. With the glory of victory comes a lifetime of slavery to the state. Cato can't marry or have any official relationship with anybody without the gamemakers' blessing, which, even if given, can be revoked at any time. The gamemakers are so powerful that one of them could march into this suite and be within their rights to forcibly separate us. Neither of us is so naïve as to think Cato's presence in my room hasn't been noted by some security official. There could be cameras watching us at this very moment as our bodies entwine once again. But I'm past caring.


	33. 4-7 Cease to exist

4.7 Cease to exist

Cato stays with me until morning. In the circumstances, it probably wasn't the wisest decision on either of our parts. But we're both happy to face the consequences of a lack of sleep. Mrs. Snow's letter didn't say what time she'd be arriving, so I don't delay in having my breakfast. It also allows the Avox sent to service my room time to tidy up the mess Cato and I have made. Fortunately Prim and Haymitch have readied themselves for this morning's activities without my help. By rights I should go with them, but they insist that I stay here to greet Mrs. Snow when she arrives.

Shortly after ten o'clock the communications panel in my suite tells me that Mrs. Snow has arrived. I'm both surprised and delighted to see that her daughter Gillian is with her. Gillian's well-being was going to be the first question I asked Mrs. Snow, and I'm pleased to see that my question will now be redundant. The two men in army uniforms with them, who I presume are Mrs. Snow's bodyguards, wait outside the suite.

"Katniss!" squeals Gillian as she throws herself into my arms. It's a welcoming gesture which I echo. My greeting to Mrs. Snow is much more formal. Nevertheless I try to be a good host. My time in the Capitol has taught me a few finer points on social behaviour.

"You may be wondering why I wanted to see you," begins Mrs. Snow, skipping the unnecessary and meaningless pleasantries. "My life is in danger and I need someone I can trust to look after Gillian. Your name came to mind."

"Is that why you have had us brought here?" I ask, trying to contain my anger. "My sister and Haymitch were safe until you demanded that they be surrendered to the gamemakers."

"Firstly, I wanted you here because this arena is one of the most secure locations outside of the Capitol. And secondly, District Twelve won't be participating in these Hunger Games. Nor any in the future. After this week, District Twelve will cease to exist."

"What do you mean?" I say in alarm. "How can a district simply cease to exist?"

"District Thirteen ceased to exist after the revolt seventy five years ago," replies Mrs. Snow. "Or rather, it ceased to exist in the eyes of the rest of Panem. District Twelve will simply follow the same fate. The demand for coal is rapidly dwindling, and Panem no longer has any need for District Twelve's coal reserves. Without alternative resources worth mining or harvesting, such a remote outpost as District Twelve is doomed to die a slow but inevitable death."

"But what about the people? There are thousands of people living in District Twelve. What's to become of them?"

"Resettlement in other districts if they want. Create an independent state if they can manage it. My father-in-law started negotiations with President Coin a year or so ago which could see some or all of District Twelve's population placed under District Thirteen's dominion."

"But why would District Thirteen want that?" I ask.

"A few decades ago District Thirteen lost a large part of its population to a virulent disease. The disease was eventually eradicated, but their population has struggled to recover ever since. District Thirteen needs people, while Panem needs access to the rich uranium deposits located in District Thirteen. The transfer of control seemed to be a good solution for all concerned."

"So what happened?" I ask.

"The negotiations were halted six months ago when we learned that the leaders of District Thirteen weren't interested in simply acquiring new citizens for their district, they wanted slaves. President Coin denied it, of course, and my father-in-law eventually accepted her word. My husband was given the task of resuming negotiations. Recent events have thrown those negotiations into turmoil, which is probably why you were kidnapped."

"So why have you demanded that we be brought here?" I ask.

"Because I won't give in to blackmail," replies Mrs. Snow. "Only when President Coin proves her good faith will I allow the negotiations to continue."

"You said your life is in danger," I say, trying to sound concerned about someone who could be a murderer and the author of her own situation. "That would suggest that you are not fully in control of the Capitol. What you say about District Twelve's future may be what you intend, but is it what those who oppose you intend?"

"My father-in-law would undoubtedly have bombed District Twelve out of pique, but the eventual decolonisation of District Twelve has been government policy for the last decade. The negotiations with President Coin have simply accelerated implementation of that policy. Those who wish me harm aren't interested in District Twelve. They are simply wanting to be top dog, and I'm an unexpected obstacle preventing them from achieving their ambitions."

"You don't seem unduly concerned about your situation," I say.

"I refuse to cower behind an army of peacekeepers like my father-in-law and husband," replies Mrs. Snow. "Those peacekeepers were unable to prevent President Snow and my husband from being assassinated. What those involved in the crime hadn't realised was that I haven't been a passive bystander in the constant battle for power. My efforts have gained me a few enemies, but many allies as well. Fortunately for me, my enemies are predictable to the point of being boring. But one of them might get lucky, which is why I want to keep Gillian safely out of the way."

I probably now know more about President Snow's demise than the vast majority of Panem. That's assuming Mrs. Snow is telling the truth, of course. My own intuition tells me that she's not lying, although I doubt she's told me everything.

"You don't seem to be mourning the loss of your husband," I observe.

"My husband was an evil man, second only to his father," replies Mrs. Snow without any sign of emotion. "Did you know that I was once married to a district man and had two sons? Sixteen years ago, President Snow chose to give his son the birthday present his son wanted the most. Me. I was given the choice of divorcing my husband, or becoming a childless widow. To humiliate me further, I wasn't allowed to tell my young sons why I was abandoning them. So, you see, my only joy from sixteen years of being married to a Snow is my daughter Gillian."

Gillian's lack of reaction indicates she's already aware of her mother's story. She too doesn't seem unduly upset by her father's sudden death, although she seemed friendly towards him when I witnessed their reunion in the Capitol a few weeks ago. Whatever her feelings for her father, his death can't be easy for her.

"And how do you feel about staying with me?" I ask Gillian.

"Life is never dull when I'm around you, Katniss," she replies. "I don't like the need to hide, but there's nobody I'd rather be hiding with than you."

"So, do you agree to look after Gillian for as long as it takes, Miss Everdeen?" asks Mrs. Snow. "You'll receive the same remuneration as before."

"I agree," I reply. "But where are we to stay?"

"Here will do for now. This suite is large enough for the both of you. I'll make the arrangements with the gamemakers before I leave. I'm sure they'll have no objection."

"What about my sister, Prim ... Primrose? And Haymitch? You said District Twelve wasn't going to be represented at these Games."

"They'll be sent to District Twelve as soon as the official announcement is made. Effie Trinket will be returned to the Capitol."

"But District Twelve is held by rebels allied to District Thirteen," I say.

"Yes, for now," concedes Mrs. Snow. "But I think the citizens of District Twelve are safe enough in the care of those rebels for the moment. Besides, contrary to popular belief, I don't have unlimited resources at my disposal. Fighting to reclaim territory we don't even want seems a bit pointless."

"So the citizens of District Twelve are to be kept under guard while you negotiate their sale to President Coin?" I snap, momentarily losing my temper.

"Be careful what you say and do, Miss Everdeen," warns Mrs. Snow. "I'm trusting you with Gillian's safety. You and your family wouldn't like the consequences should you betray my trust."

Mrs. Snow ends our conversation at this point and gets ready to depart for wherever she is going. Gillian says farewell to her mother after which I help Gillian to get settled in the bedroom intended for the second mentor. Gillian has arrived with only the small emergency bag of items she had when we met in the Capitol. Fortunately, an Avox soon appears with extra clothes and toiletries for Gillian. Gillian is also handed a card similar to the one given to me when I arrived. I haven't had occasion to use my card, but it obviously serves some useful purpose. Gillian tells me about her adventures after we parted company in the Capitol. Despite what Gillian said earlier, I can't help feeling that being with me is going to be a lot duller than the drama she's recently witnessed in the Capitol. At least, I hope it will be duller.

Now I'm really torn between carrying out Plutarch Heavensbee's sabotage, or not. Who is the more trustworthy? Heavensbee and Coin, or Mrs. Snow and her allies?

Mrs. Snow didn't leave any instructions or guidance on what Gillian and I should do. It's the second time she's done that to me. My own intuition tells me that I should keep Gillian's presence here a secret from as many people as possible. That means keeping her clear of the many television cameras covering the Hunger Games build up. I just hope the gamemakers can be trusted to keep our secret. Unfortunately, I've little confidence in their discretion. By their very nature, the gamemakers are political animals, constantly wrestling for power among themselves. While their loyalty is first and foremost to themselves, they undoubtedly have connections with Panem's power brokers. Those connections will probably link them to one or more of Mrs. Snow's enemies.

Just when it looks as though we are going to be virtual prisoners in our own rooms, I receive a visit from Cato. I told him I was expecting a visit from Mrs. Snow today, and he said he would check up on me afterwards. I don't know how he knew Mrs. Snow had been and gone, nor why he isn't surprised to find Gillian here with me. I decide I should trust Cato with what Mrs. Snow said.

"I don't think we know the full picture," says Cato after I've told him what Mrs. Snow said. "Someone is lying to you, but can you be sure who? What if President Coin is telling the truth and Mrs. Snow is lying?"

"I trust my mother," interrupts Gillian with confidence.

"I understand that," I reply to Gillian. "But have you witnessed any of the events your mother described when she was here, or do you only know what she's told you?"

"I know she and my father didn't get on together, although we all pretended to do so in public. She's right about him being an evil man. I was afraid of him. He treated me much worse than my grandfather. I used to listen to what he and my mother talked about in the hope of getting my revenge on him. More than once I've heard him make reference to her being married before. He even mentioned her children one time, although I think they are dead. As for recent events in the Capitol, neither mum nor I witnessed any of it. We knew nothing until two army generals called to our house and told my mother about the assassination. They asked her to take over as interim President."

"That would suggest your mother has the backing of the army," muses Cato. "A powerful ally in this sort of situation. But who are her main enemies?"

"I don't know," replies Gillian. "My father knew several people whom I never trusted."

"I think we must let Mrs. Snow worry about her own problems," I reply. "I need to concentrate on keeping Gillian safe, and rescuing those in District Twelve from the clutches of District Thirteen and their allies."


	34. 4-8 Torn

4.8 Torn

"I hope you are going to include me in this venture," says Cato.

"I thought you had responsibilities as a District Two mentor?" I reply.

"My services as mentor are unnecessary and unwanted," replies Cato. "Brutus has no interest in listening to any advice I may provide, and none of the mentors are able contact potential sponsors in the Capitol. The mentors are just being used as messengers between the gamemakers and the tributes. District Two can easily manage that with just one mentor."

"Well, I'd appreciate your help because I'm torn between two courses of action. I can't decide who poses the greatest threat to the people of District Twelve? I don't trust President Coin, but there's a long history of abuse and neglect by those from the Capitol."

"Then we first need to find the answer to some mysteries," says Cato. "For example. Why did a rebel force set up camp outside District Twelve a few months ago and pretend to be Panem soldiers? What connection does their arrival have to the new fence around District Twelve? And why were you kidnapped?"

"I don't know," I reply. "I don't even know how to find out the answer to those questions. And even if we found out why, I can't see how that helps us."

"Perhaps knowing won't help," admits Cato. "But if you are right in saying Catullus is among the rebel troops, then I suspect there's more to the rebel force in District Twelve than meets the eye."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I can't be sure, but I don't think the rebels holding District Twelve are really allied to District Thirteen at all. I think we'll find that they owe their loyalty to someone else entirely."

"But they transported Prim, Effie and Haymitch and I to District Thirteen quick enough."

"Yes, so you said last night. But did you recognise any of the soldiers who escorted you? Isn't it possible that they were District Thirteen soldiers stationed with the rebels, and who used the chaos in District Twelve to kidnap you while the peacekeepers and rebels were busy fighting each other?"

"But one of the soldiers knew your cousin. He even called him by his nickname, Tully."

"Tully might be the usual nickname for Catullus, but my cousin only ever goes under the nickname Cats," replies Cato. "I think my theory is going to be right."

"I still can't understand how you can be so sure," I reply.

"I'm not sure, but I know my cousin and I'm backing my hunches."

"And if you're right. What then?" I ask.

"Any large scale movement into Panem territory by District Thirteen's forces would be tantamount to a declaration of war. It's probably the reason why President Coin has wanted to use Panem rebels to guard her interests in District Twelve. As long as President Coin thinks there's a chance her negotiations with the Capitol will succeed, then I can't see her sending her army into District Twelve."

"I don't understand what's going on," says Gillian. "Are the rebels who have taken control of District Twelve protecting the people from the Capitol or from District Thirteen?"

"An excellent question," says Cato. "My guess is both. This isn't something which has suddenly come about in the last few days. This smells of months of serious plotting."

"Plotting by who?" I ask.

"Obviously I don't know," replies Cato. "But I'm guessing that the timing of the coup and the takeover of District Twelve by the rebels isn't a coincidence. Whoever planned to take power after the coup clearly wanted the rebel force to control District Twelve."

"But that means it would probably have been my father," says Gillian. "That doesn't make sense. The peacekeepers would have been loyal to him and they were already in control of District Twelve."

"Which probably means it wasn't Gillian's father behind the rebels in District Twelve," I add. "Could it have been one or more of his associates?"

"We don't know the identity of his associates," Cato replies. "If it was one of them, it means that they must have been planning to assassinate your father as well as President Snow. We don't know who killed them. It could easily have been one of your father's associates turned traitor."

"And what about the kidnapping of Prim, Haymitch, Effie and I?" I ask.

"President Coin obviously had the four of you kidnapped for a reason," says Cato. "But I can't see what she hoped to gain by holding you hostage. The coup in the Capitol was occurring at the time of your kidnap, so that can't be the reason. If anything, the coup has upset her plans, or she wouldn't have agreed to hand you over so soon."

"I think the coup could be connected to the kidnapping," says Gillian. "What if President Coin was aware a coup was about to take place? What if she expected my father to take over? Taking hostages could ensure his cooperation in rapidly concluding his negotiations with President Coin over the future of District Twelve."

"Or, the apparent miraculous rescue of the hostages from rebel hands could have given your father the extra support he would have needed in the Capitol," says Cato. "After all the build up, the success or failure of these Games will make or break many political careers. Your mother is taking a big gamble by not including District Twelve tributes in these Games."

"I think President Coin intends for these Games to be a disaster," I add. "From her point of view, the more political careers she destroys the better. It will create a vacuum into which her supporters can seize control of Panem. Her negotiations with President Snow over District Twelve could have given her an appetite for greater power."

"But how is President Coin going to disrupt the Hunger Games?" asks Cato. "All the tributes and support teams are here inside a heavily guarded arena complex."

"Plutarch Heavensbee helped design this arena," I say. "He told me a way to sabotage the computer systems but I'm not certain whether I should do so. If I do, then Heavensbee will follow whatever plan he has in mind. If I don't carry out the sabotage, then I risk allowing my sister to fight in the Hunger Games arena."

"But my mother said District Twelve isn't going to be represented in this year's Hunger Games," says Gillian."

"I hope so, but Cato is right about the high expectations for this year's Hunger Games," I reply. "Your mother may be forced into changing her mind. I'm not certain I can take the risk."

"What sort of sabotage does Plutarch Heavensbee expect you to carry out?" asks Cato.

I explain what I've been told to do. Cato promptly suggests that we talk to Beetee, the male tribute for District Three. He's something of an electronics expert, and he might be able to tell us more about what Heavensbee is planning. A short phone call to the District Three suite has Beetee at my door in a matter of minutes. I explain the instructions I've been given, and Beetee asks a few questions.

"What you will be doing is enabling someone outside the arena complex to access the arena's computer system. Heavensbee has obviously built a backdoor into the system but it needs someone inside the complex to allow access through the security firewall. He obviously didn't want to risk his backdoor being detected during some routine systems check. Once he has access he could easily disrupt the Games."

"So what am I to do?" I ask Beetee.

"Heavensbee will be able to detect the hole in the security firewall within a matter of seconds. He will probably upload a set of programs to prevent the firewall from being closed, and to shield his activities from detection. Once that's done, he can really cause mischief. He would have enough control to kill everyone here."

"How is he going to kill everyone?" asks Cato, obviously thinking Beetee is being over dramatic.

"We are in a fortified underground complex. What if all the doors were locked and the power went down," suggests Beetee. "Do you think you'd survive long enough for someone to break through the steel doors and rescue you? Remember, this place is designed to keep unwelcome guests out."

"But surely the door locks would open if the power failed," says Cato. "Isn't that the usual procedure to prevent something like that happening. Besides, there must be back-up generators should the main power fail."

"Usually, yes. But don't forget that Heavensbee was involved in the design of this place."

"Is there anyway of checking if what you say is correct," I ask Beetee.

"We can try to access the building blueprints. Now we know Heavensbee's override passwords, I should be able to break into the complex's databases."

"Won't the gamemakers detect you doing that?" asks Cato.

"Not if I'm using Heavensbee's passwords."

I allow Beetee to use the console in my room. I'm taking a huge risk that Beetee's activity on my console isn't being traced. I don't know if I'm pleased or alarmed when Beetee confirms that his suspicions are not only correct, but that there are far more sinister twists to Heavensbee's tampering. I don't need Beetee's analysis to tell me that Heavensbee doesn't intend for any person to leave this arena complex alive.

"Well, that settles it," I say. "There's no way I'm carrying out Heavensbee's instructions."

"That may not be enough," replies Beetee. "Heavensbee couldn't be sure you'd carry out the sabotage, so he will have given himself a backup option. Have you used your card to access the computer system since you arrived."

"No," I reply. "I haven't had any reason to do so."

"Then don't," replies Beetee. "Heavensbee knew you would be attending these Games, so it's possible he's rigged the system to activate some hidden code linked to your identity. The code could be activated when you use your card at any computer console inside the complex."

"Then why did he ask me to carry our his sabotage if my simply accessing a console is all that he needs?" I ask. "And why me? Heavensbee must have known that Haymitch was going be a tribute."

"Heavensbee's being careful in case his code was detected during a routine system check. He's giving himself a secondary option," replies Beetee. "It's possible Haymitch accessing the system may also trigger the code, but it's 25 years since Haymitch was last a tribute, so his former identity record may have been archived."

"So what are we to do?" I ask.

"You do nothing," says Beetee. "I shall give Plutarch Heavensbee a little surprise when tries to access his backdoor into the system."

I've no idea what Beetee intends to do. I barely understand half of what he's been talking about. Cato is even more bemused by the technical jargon. Only Gillian seems to understand most of Beetee's ramblings. But if someone else is willing to take the responsibility off my shoulders, then I'm not complaining.

Beetee leaves us in peace as he goes off to prepare whatever it is he intends to do. Even though we are still in danger, I feel more confident than I did a few hours ago. Gillian senses that Cato and I would like a few moments alone and she goes to explore the plentiful entertainment options in her room. Cato doesn't stay long, though, and returns to his room with a promise to look in on me in the morning.

Prim and Haymitch return to the suite after their day's activities and I introduce them to Gillian. I'd assumed that Effie was with Prim and Haymitch, and I'm surprised to hear they've not seen her since breakfast. We don't know where Effie has gone since none of the gamemakers' instructions related to her.

"Should we be worried about her?" asks Prim, clearly worried already.

"I don't think so," I reply. "She can't have gone too far. This place is guarded like a prison."

I regret my comparison as soon as the words are out of my mouth. The last thing we need reminding about is our captivity. In District Twelve, we were kept behind an electrified fence; in District Thirteen, in rooms the size of a prison cell. Here we have more comfortable surroundings, but we are still the gamemakers' prisoners.

By the time we finish our evening meal, we are all becoming worried about Effie's continued absence. I warn Haymitch about not using the computer system, so it is Prim who accesses one of the consoles in our suite to try a search for any record of Effie's movements. Unfortunately, only mentors have access to the search application which allows a mentor to track members of his or her group. I would need to use my card to do that.

I'm just about to call one of the security guards, when Effie suddenly turns up. She obviously has some news which she's bursting to share with us.


	35. 4-9 Chaos in the Capitol

4.9 Chaos in the Capitol

"The Capitol is in chaos," says Effie. "There's talk of postponing the Games until things calm down."

"Is there any news about my mother?" asks Gillian, worried by Effie's announcement.

"Oh! Hello, Gillian. What are you doing here?"

"Her mother left her in my care," I reply on Gillian's behalf. "So what have you heard?"

"It seems that reports of President Snow's assassination are wrong," replies Effie. "His son was killed in the assassination attempt, but President Snow survived. I'm sorry, Gillian, but I've heard nothing about your mother's whereabouts."

"She might not have gone back to the Capitol after she left here," I say, more to sooth Gillian's concerns than any other reason. "When did you hear about this, Effie?"

"Only a short while ago," replies Effie. "I was visiting my sister, Sylvie, and we lost track of the time. We were leaving the room which we were using when we overheard a couple of the gamemakers talking."

I recall that Sylvie was Effie's counterpart for District Two during the 74th Hunger Games. They didn't get on very well last time, but they seem to have put their differences aside in our current circumstances. Effie goes to the large entertainment screen in the common area of our suite, and tries to find a television channel showing a news bulletin. Several channels are blocked and the others are broadcasting mindless pap. We all sit down and we each try to work out the consequences of Effie's news.

Our silent thoughts are interrupted by a strange beeping sound coming from the communications panel in our suite. I look at the others to see if any of them knows what the beeping sound means.

"It's an incoming video call," says Effie, who has much more experience with dealing with this sort of technology than I. We all go over to the console and see a flashing message from an unidentified caller requesting a video conference with me. I'm torn between answering it and ignoring it. It could be Beetee letting us know what he's been able to do, or it could be Plutarch Heavensbee successfully hacking his way into the arena's systems. Haymitch makes my mind up or me by pressing the button to accept the call. I notice he ducks out of the way quick enough afterwards though.

"Miss Everdeen," says a voice as the picture comes into focus. It's a face I never thought I'd see again.

"President Snow," I reply in kind.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," President Snow replies.

"Nothing surprises me where you are concerned," I say. "I'd heard that the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated."

"They are, although my son wasn't so fortunate. The culprits will pay in blood in due course. Now, I believe that you have my granddaughter with you."

"Grandfather!" cries Gillian stepping into range of the camera before I can answer President Snow's question. I momentarily wonder how President Snow knows Gillian is with me, but I quickly realise that one of the gamemakers must have told him.

"Gillian, my dear," replies President Snow, displaying a rare flash of genuine feeling. "I'm so glad you are safe and well. I want you to stay with Miss Everdeen and do as she says. She will see you to safety."

"What's happened to my mother?" asks Gillian.

"I have no information about her whereabouts. She was last seen leaving the Hunger Games arena with a military escort. I'm sorry I can't give you anything more definite. If you hear from her, you must let me know as soon as possible. Now, I'd like to talk with Miss Everdeen alone."

The others leave me as President Snow commands, although they will still be able to hear our conversation. But President Snow had already considered that problem, and he silently shows me a set of instructions written on a sheet of paper and held before the camera at his end.

"Do you understand what you are to do?" asks President Snow once his final piece of paper is moved away from the screen.

"Yes," I reply. "I don't comprehend the reason, but I understand what you want me to do."

"Good. Now remember that nobody else must know what I've just ordered you to do."

"It will be safer for Gillian if I had another person's help," I say, hoping that he'll agree to let Cato help me.

"Safer in some respects, but more dangerous in others," replies President Snow. "You're on your own on this mission, Miss Everdeen. I don't need to remind you of the consequences of failure."

I try to hold my emotions in check, but President Snow just smiles at my futile attempt to control my anger. Surprisingly he doesn't reprimand me for showing dissent.

"I know you wish that I had died at the hands of my would-be assassin," chortles President Snow. "You may yet get your wish. But for now try to remember our respective positions and power. I shall follow your progress with interest."

President Snow moves to reach his controls in order to terminate the call. I only get a momentary glance at the extent of his injuries before the screen goes blank. He may have escaped death at the hands of an assassin, but he's obviously been badly injured. Perhaps that's what he meant when he said I might get my wish. Perhaps he's a dying man grasping at the last vestiges of his power.

"So what's going on?" asks Haymitch, beating the others to the question they all want answering.

"We're being sent home in the morning," I reply. "Effie, you and the other Capitol citizens will go back to the Capitol, while everyone else goes back to their district."

"What about me?" asks Gillian.

"You're going to be my guest in District Twelve for a while. I suppose that means that I'll need to find a job and somewhere to live."

"But what about the rebels? What about Plutarch Heavensbee?" asks Prim.

"Both are problems we need to face," I reply. "Hopefully Beetee has found a way of keeping Heavensbee and his friends off our backs for the time being. Otherwise I fear that we'll be going nowhere tomorrow."

"What did President Snow really want?" asks Effie.

"Like I said, he wants me to take Gillian to District Twelve and wait for further instructions," I reply. It's not a lie, but nor is it the whole truth. I wish President Snow had allowed Cato to help me with what I must do, but I understand why he refused. Cato's presence in District Twelve would attract the very attention I need to avoid. If Prim was a bit older, and Haymitch more reliable, I could enlist their help, although I hesitate to place them at further risk. President Snow obviously has confidence in my ability to succeed, even if I don't share his mood of optimism."

By morning everyone in the complex knows that the 75th Hunger Games are postponed for four weeks, and that the tributes and mentors are to return to their own district today. We won't be boarding luxury trains in front of the television cameras, though. Military air-hoppers will ferry us to our home districts with as little ceremony as possible. It's as though we are all being sent home in disgrace. What most people find surprising is that Prim, Haymitch and I are being returned to rebel held District Twelve; or more precisely, a field several kilometres from town. The gamemakers have made some half-hearted promise that a rebel vehicle will meet us and take us the rest of the way, but I wouldn't be surprised if we end up walking.

The air-hoppers arrive three hours earlier than expected. What was a reasonably well organised evacuation is reduced into chaos. I'm forced to scrap my plan to see Beetee and Cato before we leave. There's no indication that Plutarch Heavensbee is secretly interfering with what is going on, although I won't breathe easy until Prim, Haymitch, Gillian and I are aboard our air-hopper. It seems more likely that Heavensbee will simply stall his plan until we return in a few weeks. How the District Twelve tributes are going to do that from within rebel held territory remains to be seen.

Since the landing pad isn't big enough for all the air-hoppers to land together, we are told to board our respective air-hopper in district order. Which means, as usual, District Twelve leaves last, a good hour after the District One craft departed. I managed to give Cato a quick wave and a blown kiss as he and the rest of the District Two team boarded their air-hopper. Finally the last air-hopper lands to transport us to District Twelve. Effie sees us off with a heartfelt goodbye. It seems that those from the Capitol must wait here for a few days until the current crisis in the Capitol is brought under control.

We settle in our seats as the pilot and co-pilot prepare to take off. For some reason I get a niggling feeling that something isn't quite right. I'm wearing my emerald ring today; the one which Effie gave me. The ring that the superstitious part of me believes has special powers. So at first I put my doubts down to my overactive imagination triggered by me absentmindedly turning my ring on my finger. Then simple logic takes over and my doubts turn into certainty. The air-hopper's crew are wearing tiny District Thirteen insignia on the lapels of their uniform. We're being kidnapped ... again!

By now the craft has reached its normal cruising altitude and is heading towards its destination. I know that because of the relatively close proximity of District Thirteen to District Twelve, there's only a small difference in the course our craft needs to take to reach either destination. I wait for a while until the crew starts to relax. They have every reason to believe that the hardest part of their mission is over. Being the last air-hopper to leave the arena means this crew carried the greatest risk of being caught by the real Panem military, who will presumably be arriving on schedule to provide the tributes and mentor with transport to their districts.

I casually lean forward until I'm near enough to reach the co-pilot's holstered gun. He must have been expecting trouble at the arena since he's unclipped the safety strap on his holster, but forgotten to replace it later. Providing I can move fast enough I should be able to snatch the weapon and have it pointing at his head before he can react. I pick a moment when both pilots seem preoccupied and make my move.

"Change of course, fly-boys," I shout as I point the weapon in their general direction. "Take us to District Twelve."

"Katniss?! What are you doing?" asks Prim in alarm.

"These two are from District Thirteen. We're being kidnapped once again," I reply, hoping it's enough to convince everybody that I'm not insane.

"Put the gun away you stupid girl," replies the pilot. "We're already going to District Twelve."

"Then bring up the navigation map on your screen and prove it," replies Gillian.

The pilot hesitates, but eventually does as Gillian demands. Refusal would only give weight to my assertion that we're not heading for District Twelve. The map displays with a red line marking our course and the route to our destination. I don't recognise the terrain shown on the map around our destination, so I'm fairly sure it's not District Twelve. I repeat my instruction to change course. The pilot obviously considers bluffing his way out of this, but he seems genuinely worried that I might use the weapon in my hand. He gives a sigh and resets our course. The map now shows our new destination to be near a lake I recognise from my hunting trips from District Twelve.

We land in a clearing near the lake. As I expected, the place is deserted, although I suppose we should be thankful that nobody is shooting at us. We disembark and I allow the two pilots to leave with their craft. I keep their weapons in case they are tempted to try and recapture us. However, other than the embarrassment of being overcome by four civilians, they probably aren't too concerned about our escape. They know that District Twelve is held by their rebel allies, so they probably believe our recapture is only a matter of time. I wonder whether President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee will think likewise.

We don't linger in the area since we won't be safe until we each the relative safety of town. I lead the other three along one of my old hunting trails and an hour or so later we reach the rebels' first outpost.


	36. 4-10 A long time in politics

4.10 A long time in politics

Three days later

If someone understands what is happening in the Capitol, and across the rest of Panem, then I can safely say that it isn't anybody in District Twelve. My strange status among my fellow residents in District Twelve means I get to hear more than most about what is going on. But that isn't much. I suppose I should be thankful I'm no longer a pariah in the district, although that change has more to do with Prim volunteering as a Hunger Games tribute than anything I've done. The Everdeen's moral debt has been paid in full. My improved standing in the community means that the Gillian and I have been given the use of one of the small houses previously occupied by one of the peacekeepers.

The district is effectively a prison camp with most people simply concentrating on survival. The peacekeepers are gone ... apparently released unharmed shortly after they surrendered, and then transported to the fringes of District Nine. The rebel soldiers police the town, although in relatively small numbers. I've met their commander, Colonel Flynn, who seems competent enough.

President Snow had instructed me to secretly contact Colonel Flynn and pass on a message. It was an easy enough task even though I didn't understand the message's meaning. After that, Colonel Flynn has treated me as some kind of leader for the district, alongside the mayor.

Food is rationed, but there doesn't seem to be any immediate danger of it running out. That the mayor thought to stockpile food over the last few months is further proof that recent events are the result of careful planning and not some spontaneous uprising.

I finally get my chance to see Catullus once again. Colonel Flynn had no objection to us meeting, but Catullus was out on patrol when we arrived. Consequently, I've had to wait. I persuade Prim and Gillian to accompany me to my meeting with Catullus. Both are mystified by my sudden interest in them meeting Cato's cousin, especially as we will be meeting at the Jolly Miner. I let them stew in their curiosity for a while.

When we arrive, I realise that it's going to be a quiet night at the Jolly Miner. With the normal commercial links to the Capitol and other districts blocked, a lot of people are out of work or are working reduced hours. Consequently few people have money to spend on drinking and entertainment. It's a far cry from that night not so long ago when I performed here wearing the Jewels of Desire.

"Hello Katniss," says Catullus looking at each of us as we enter. "You must be Katniss's sister, Primrose. I recognise you from the reaping. But I don't recall seeing this young lady before. You don't look like you're from District Twelve."

I introduce Prim and Gillian to Catullus, without answering his question about Gillian's origin. Gillian is about to answer directly when I interrupt her.

"I'm surprised you don't recognise Gillian," I reply to Catullus. "I'm sure your mother must have mentioned your half-sister to you."

I wait while my bombshell takes effect on those around me. I've suspected a family connection ever since Cato seemed so confident in his opinion about the motives of the rebel forces in District Twelve. He obviously knew his cousin is one of Mrs. Snow's children from her first marriage. And when President Snow insisted that I bring Gillian here, it all but confirmed my suspicions. It can't be a coincidence that Catullus is part of a so-called rebel group which arrived here just as negotiations between President Snow and President Coin about District Twelve were reaching a critical point.

My announcement unlocks a few useful pieces of information which Catullus now feels able to share. It's not the complete answer, nor does it provide a clear path to peace and security. But it's a start.

"With Gillian here, this whole set up becomes a real family affair," laughs Catullus, seeing a joke I don't understand. "Don't you see it. This so-called rebel force controlling District Twelve is my mother's private army. Even Colonel Flynn is a distant relation on my father's side. Gillian has obviously been sent here for her protection."

"But what game is President Snow playing if he ordered me to bring Gillian here?" I ask.

"I'm sure he knows where the loyalties of the rebel force in District Twelve lie. We're a convenient buffer against any grab for control by District Thirteen. It means he can concentrate all of his military and peacekeeper forces towards tackling his enemies."

"But I thought he regarded your mother as one of those enemies," I say.

"Not necessarily. She must have had help to raise and equip a force the size of ours. That help may have come from President Snow himself."

"Or the Panem military," I counter, remembering that it was two army generals who asked her to become interim president. "But why would President Snow help your mother rather than his son?"

"I doubt he trusted his son's ambitions. We don't know whether Gillian's father died as a victim of the assassination attempt, or if he's a failed assassin. President Coin's ambitions suggest she has had a hand in some of the skulduggery going on in the Capitol."

"Does anyone know what's happened to my mother?" asks Gillian, having overcome her initial shock of meeting her half-brother.

"We don't know much about anything beyond the borders of District Twelve," I say. "There are reports of uprisings and military columns on the move, but nothing about your mother. On the positive side, there are no reports of her being killed or captured. District Thirteen has admitted to kidnapping 22 of the Hunger Games tributes and their mentors, but they've made no reference to you mother."

"What are we going to do?" asks Prim.

"You do nothing," replies Catullus. "District Twelve residents are to be interned here until the political situation resolves itself. Our orders are to let nobody in or out of the district."

"You let us in," I reply.

"Yes. But you shouldn't have left in the first place."

"That was hardly our fault," I snap back in reply.

An argument between us would be futile. From what little information we have, I know that the rebel force here is little more than a stakeholder guarding one of the prizes over which at least two of the antagonists are fighting. President Snow and President Coin both want District Twelve's population handed over to District Thirteen. In the case of the former, in exchange for uranium, in the latter's case, free of charge. The wishes of District Twelve's residents count for nothing. Mrs Snow said she'd offer each resident a choice of resettlement or independence if they wished, but the likelihood of her being in charge when all this is over looks pretty slim.

To the mayor's credit he does a good job in keeping everyone busy. Coal mining has stopped completely and many other businesses have shut down. Instead of giving those suddenly out of work time to mill about plotting mischief, the mayor organises work parties to make civic improvements. Derelict buildings are either torn down or cleared ready for repairs. The shortage of building supplies limits the amount of repair work actually done, but it proves that the people of District Twelve can work together. It confirms that creating an independent self-sufficient settlement is not an impossible dream.

They say a week is a long time in politics. In our case it was closer to two weeks, but the changes were no less profound. We've no idea what happened while we were living in isolation from the rest of Panem, although I guess we'll find out over time. For now, all we know is that President Snow has emerged victorious ... by that, I mean Gillian's mother; not the hated old man ... he apparently died of wounds sustained during the assassination attempt. President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee have been thwarted for now, although I doubt they'll remain passive for long. The 75th Hunger Games, and all subsequent Hunger Games, have been cancelled, so District Thirteen was left with near worthless hostages as far as bargaining value is concerned. With the loss of her allies in the Capitol, President Coin agreed to release her hostages in exchange for a truce.

My reunion with Cato is emotional to say the least. The new President Snow has already made sweeping changes across Panem. The electrified wire fences are already in the process of being torn down. Travel restrictions between districts, and to and from the Capitol have been relaxed. It means I could move to District Two and be with Cato if I wanted. Or I could live in the soon to be independent settlement which is currently known as District Twelve. With the Hunger Games over for good, Cato and the other victors no longer have any obligation to the gamemakers. Unfortunately it also means that there's no further victor's income either.

Gillian has moved back to the Capitol to be with her mother. She didn't really want to go, but she settled for my promise that she could visit me from time to time. Catullus and many of the rebel troops who guarded District Twelve, are remaining here to help build the new settlement. They surrendered their weapons to the Panem military, who promptly decided to store them here in District Twelve in case District Thirteen should ever unilaterally decide to try to absorb its smaller neighbour.

The future looks brighter than at any time in living memory, but only a fool believes that success will be easily achieved. Nearly half of District Twelve's residents have chosen to move to other districts. A few even prefer District Thirteen as their new home. My close friend Gale Hawthorne is one of those who moves away. The exodus of people is balanced by as many people migrating the other way. In addition to many of the rebel troops stationed here, there are hundreds who move from other districts to be part of our new settlement. Each migrant is carefully vetted, but few are turned away.

Prim and I are determined to stay and help with the rebuilding. It means I must face a difficult decision about Cato. He's torn between his duty to his family in District Two, and his desire to be with me. I refuse to give up my new found independence, so Cato and I go our different ways. Only time will tell whether it's a short term separation, or something more permanent.

My immediate problem is finding a job. My days of living rent free in the former peacekeepers house are over, and I need to earn money to support myself. Ma has recovered enough to resume work nursing the sick and infirm. She's even being paid a regular wage. It means that she and Prim have enough income to manage, although I intend to do what I can to help out.

There are plenty of labouring jobs, but I lack the training or experience for a skilled trade. Labouring would pay enough to cover my rent and food, but not enough to also help out ma and Prim. I need a job which pays more. Shop assistants are no better paid than labourers, and office work is way out of my league. Inevitably I'm drawn back to the Jolly Miner. Griff is still in charge, and he's obviously enjoying the upturn in business now that people are back at work.

"You looking for a job?" asks Griff.

"Yes," I reply. "Do you have one going?"

"I could do with an extra pair of hands behind the bar some nights. And someone to provide entertainment on Friday and Saturday nights. You interested?"

I admit to him that I've no experience at tending a bar, but that I'm willing to learn. He's delighted that I still have the Jewels of Desire in my possession and we soon strike up a deal which suits the both of us. I start work on Friday night and my performance proves to be a huge success, second only to the one on Saturday night. My challenge from then on is to keep offering new routines so that Griff's customers don't get bored with me. I don't doubt there will be other girls willing to replace me if my performances become stale. At least Griff seems happy enough ... for now.

During a quiet spell behind the bar one Wednesday night, I ask Griff whether he has considered changing the name of his bar. The coal mines are all closed, and the new industries which have replaced them are starting to prosper. Calling his inn the Jolly Miner is a little out of date.

"I've thought about changing the name, but the only name I can come up with which I like is the Jewels of Desire," he replies. "What do you think?"

[The End]


End file.
